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30 cents. BOOTH'S SERIES OF ACTING PLAYS. No. 7. 

BULWER LYTTON'Sj;)^^g 

DRAMA OF 

THE LADY OF LYONS 

OR 

LOVE AND PRIDE 

AS PRODUCED BY 

EDWIN BOOTH. 

Adapted from the Text of the Author's Edition, with Introduftory Remarks, ©"c, 

By henry L. HINTON. 



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4{i9 Broome Street, Xetv York. 



BULWER LYTTON'S 






DRAMA OF 



THE LADY OF LYONS 



OR 



LOVE AND PRIDE 



AS PRODUCED BY 



EDWIN BOOTH. 



Adapted from the Text of the Author's Edition, with Introduftory Remarks, Gfc, 



By henry L. HINTON. 



NEW YORK: 




PUBLISHED BY HURD & HOUGHTON, 
459 BROOME STREET. 



t^ 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, In the year 1868, 
By henry L. HINTON, 
In the Clerk's Office of the Distr'u^: Court of the United States for the 
Southern Distri^ of New York. 



INTRODUCTION. 



The Lady of Lyons was originally produced at Covent Garden 
Theater^ London, in February, 1838, the manager, Mr. Macready, essaying 
the role of Claude Melnotte ; his performance of this character was always 
highly lauded by the critics. The first representation of the play in 
this country took place at the old Park Theater on the 14th of May, 
1838. Mr. Ireland, in his Records of the New York Stage, speaks 
in high praise of the cast as a whole. Mr. Forrest took the part of 
Claude. Mr. Placide (Col. Damas), Mrs. Wheatley (Mme. Deschapelles), 
and Mrs, Richardson (Pauline), had parts peculiarly adapted to their 
several styles, and in which they have never been excelled, while Miss 
Cushman's talent raised a meager and insignificant charaedr. Widow 
Melnotte, to an interesting and prominent position. The story upon 
which the play is founded, and the author's motive in presenting the 
piece, are given in his preface ; which is as follows : — 

' An indistin6l recoUedlion of the very pretty little tale, called The 
Bellozus-Mender, suggested the plot of this dram.a. The incidents are, 
however, greatly altered from those in the tale, and the characters entirely 
recast. 

''Having long had a wish to illustrate certain periods of the French 
history, so, in the seledtion of the date in which the scenes of this play are 
laid, I saw that the era of the Republic was that in which the incidents 
were rendered most probable, in which the probationary career of the hero 
could well be made sufficiently rapid for dramatic efFe£l, and in which the 
charader of the time itself was depided by the agencies necessary to the con- 
dud of the narrative. For, during the early years of the first and most 
brilliant successes of the French Republic, in the general ferment of society. 



\v INTRODUCTION. 

and the brief equalization of ranks, Claude's high-placed love, his ardent 
Nfeelings, his unsettled principles (the struggle between which makes the 
passion of this drama), his ambition, and his career, were phenomena that 
charaderized the age, and in which the spirit of the nation went along with 
the extravagance of the individual. 

' The play itself was composed with a twofold objed. In the first 
place, sympathizing with the enterprise of Mr. Macready, as manager of 
Covent Garden, and believing that many of the higher interests of th< 
Drama were involved in the success or failure of an enterprise equally 
hazardous and disinterested, I felt, if I may so presume to express myself^ 
something of the Brotherhood of Art ; and it was only for Mr. Macreadj 
to think it possible that I might serve him, in order to induce me to mak< 
the attempt. 

* Secondly, in that attempt I was mainly anxious to see whether or notj 
after the comparative failure on the stage of The Duchess de la Vallierei 
certain critics had truly declared that it was not in my power to attain thi 
art of dramatic construction and theatrical effed. I felt, indeed, that i 
was in this that a writer, accustomed to the narrative class of composition 
would have the most both to learn and unltzvn. Accordingly, it was t 
the development of the plot and the arrangement of the incidents that 
dire6led my chief attention ; and I sought to throw whatever belongs to* 
poetry less into the di61:ion and the *' felicity of words," than into the con- 
stni6lion of the story, the creation of the charaders, and the spirit of the 
pervading sentiment. 

' The authorship of the play was neither avowed nor suspeded un 
the play had established itself in public favor. The announcement of m: 
name was the signal for attacks, chiefly political, to which it is now nee< 
less to refer. When a work has outlived for some time the earlier hostili- 
ties of criticism, there comes a new race of critics to which a writer may, 
for the most part, calmly trust for a fair consideration, whether of the faults 
or the merits of his performance.' 

In adapting the present edition of this play to the stage, the editor has 
found it necessary to make but few variations from the original text. In 
truth few dramas, recent or old, have demanded so little pruning at the 
hands of stage-managers. The punduation, however, has been modified, 
so as to make it accord with the system adopted in the other plays of this 
series. 



INTRODUCTION. 



COSTUME. 



The following remarks on the costume of the period of this play are 
translated from * Herbe's Costumes Fran^ais ' : — 

* The years '91 and '92, which were such sad ones for the Court- 
simplified the fashions of the time, without banishing elegance ; but in '9^ 
the fall of the throne, the invasion, the ruin of the finances, and the im- 
perious demands of equality, brought all luxury under the ban ; even 
the rich, reducing themselves to the level of people, pushed negligence 
of costume to the verge of indecency. The cargmagnole, or jacket, and 
the great-coat were generally worn ; powdering and painting ceased to be 
pradiced ; and these tendencies in dress, together with the terrible events 
of the time, gave men a somber and fierce expression. Democracy hav- 
ing gone down with its leaders, the Thermidorians displayed an affec- 
tation of elegance ; they resumed the custom of powdering ; and, to give 
themselves an imposing air, they bound up, under the name of oreiUes de 
chien, two masses of hair upon the cheeks, and allowed the rest to fall bacl 
in tresses. As a rallying signal, they put on very high green cravats. 
Frock and dress coats were very short and with wide lapels ; breeches were 
worn with pumps and striped or spotted stockings, and tight pantaloons with 
top-boots. Toward '99, powdering was again discontinued, the oreilles de 
chien were suppressed, and the collars and lapels of coats lost somewhat of 
their width ; but with the Consulate, the fashions of the court began to re- 
appear — the nets or bags of hair, and powdered heads. Breeches, opera 
hats, and top-boots gave way, under the Empire, to tight pantaloons, black 
boots, and the round hat. In winter, cloaks were worn. In iBo6 there 
arose a mania for wearing a round jacket over the dress-coat. Notwithstand- 
ing the proscription of powdered heads, despite the coiffures a la Caracalluy 
and those a la Titus, adopted by the Emperor, a multitude of people per- 
tinaciously clung to their cues to the end of his reign. 

' When the Republic was established, all thoughts were turned toward 
antiquity, to admire and copy the Greeks and Romans. Costumes, head- 
dresses, names, and house-furniture, all were fashioned after the antique. 
The ladies seized upon this novelty with eagerness, but the first attempts 
which they made after the Reign of Terror were original and barbarous. 
Like the men, they were powdered, and wore oreilles de chien and cravats ; 
they dressed the head in the most bizarre styles ; but the love of antiquity 



vi INTRODUCTION. 

soon gave them a preference for the Greek and Roman head-dresses, and at 
the court of Barras, the ladies displayed, along with the most perfe6l taste, 
a forgetfulness of decency. To give the outline of the form was the 
dominant aim ; thus, a caraco without sleeves, very short and low in the 
neck, a transparent robe with a long trail, a very fine and short petticoat, 
and flesh-colored stockings, formed the dress of a lady. Some strove to 
introduce the Roman mode, and donned the buskin, but without success. 
Under the Consulate, tunics were adopted, and the trails of the robes began to 
be curtailed till, at the commencement of the Empire, they were suppressed 
altogether. Finally, the mode lost all its elegance ; the general attire be- 
came contracted and mean, and bad taste was carried so far as to make the 
skirts without folds. Under theDiredlory and the Consulate, the robes of 
ladies in full dress were so decollete that the nipples of the breasts were 
revealed. Under the Empire much less of the bosom was displayed, but 
the robe was parted on the back down to the girdle. Very low coiffures 
and small hats were worn till 1 8 1 1 ; then they kept increasing in size till 
the Restoration. In winter, shawls, furs, and tippets of swan's down, cash- 
meres, and short coats with many capes were adopted. 

' Victorious over prejudices, reason became intolerant, and exiled religion. 
Then was born the dogma of the " Theophilantropes ;" but this new re- 
ligion, child of liberty, was doomed soon to perish with liberty itself Its 
ministers were clothed in a long, white robe, gathered about the waist with 
a blue girdle with floating ends. 

* Under the Directory, luxury reappeared in a garb of simplicity which 
accorded but little with modesty; for, although the ladies only clothed 
themselves in linen, they could not find textures fine enough, and there 
were shops where the threads were drawn out to render them more 
transparent and soft, so that, in all the movements and attitudes of the 
body, the dress revealed the shape in all its outlines. Flowers, diamonds, 
and especially cameos, composed the rest of the attire of ladies ; and, al- 
though the men, under the Consulate, resumed gold and silver embroid- 
eries, ladies adorned their robes with them only at the imperial court 
Under the Diredory, gold and silver were excluded from all the vestments 
of the civil authorities ; but the tunic, the coat, and the cloak of the Di- 
re6lors were richly ornamented with them. The members of the Ckambre 
des Anciens wore a violet robe, and a white mantle ; the Cinq-Cents, a pur- 
ple mantle and a white robe. The embroideries were tri-colored. The 
dress of the members of the High Court of Justice' consisted of a robe, 

I 



INTR OD UCTION. vii 

a white toga and mantle, bordered with red and blue cords ; that of the 
members of the Tribunal of Appeal was composed of a blue toga and robe, 
white mantle, with tri-colored borders and red girdle. The members of 
the Civil and Criminal Tribunal, and the Justices of Peace, were arrayed 
in the same manner ; the members of the Civil Tribunal were distinguished 
by a blue ribbon with a red and a white cord ; those of the Criminal Tri- 
bunal, by a red ribbon with a white and a blue cord ; Justices, by a white 
ribbon with a red and a blue cord, and a round hat without a plume. The 
President of the Municipal Administration appeared all in black, with a 
round hat decked with feathers and a tri-colored ribbon, and tri-colored 
scarf in form of a Saint Andrew's cross. The members of the Depart- 
mental Administration wore a black coat and black stockings, a tunic with 
blue linings and facings. 

* The National Guard was created in 1 789. Its uniform consisted of a 
blue coat, white vest, breeches, linings, gaiters, red facings, collar, epau- 
lets, plume and bands, hat and bearskin capSv' 

We have but little to add to this exhaustive account, and that is simply 
for the purpose of animadverting upon the pra6lice of arraying Claude 
Melnotte in the garb of a prince. A moment's reflexion will suffice to 
show the reader that, in the time of the play, an aristocratic costume would 
have brought our prince wi':hout delay to the guillotine. It is equally 
improper to array the peasant Melnotte in blouse and pantaloons instead 
of the true attire of the Lyonnese peasantry, which is described as follows : 

' The dress in the distridl of the Leonais is, like its wearers, grave and 
formal ; it is generally made of black cloth or serge, which gives it a most 
somber appearance. The coat is cut quite square, but sometimes reaches 
half way to the knee; at others, it is only like a long jacket. The 
waistcoat is very long. The breeches of the better farmers are very large, 
and tied at the knees ; the poorer peasants have them not nearly so wide. 
The stockings are black, and a blue scarf encircles the waist ; the hair al- 
ways hangs at its full length over the back and shoulders ; the hat is of 
immense size, and the shoe-buckle enormous. Those peasants who can not 
afford to wear cloth clothes have them made of linen, and wear straw 
hats, with black cotton rosette.' 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE 

Of this adaptation of The Lady of Lyons as cast for its first representation at Booth^s 
Theatre, New York, . 



Beauseant, in love with, and refused by, Pauline , . . 

Glavis, his friend, also a rejedled suitor to Pauline. . . 

Colonel Damas, cousin to Madame Deschappelles. . 

Monsieur Deschappelles, a Lyonese merchant, \ 
father of Pauline / • 

Claude Melnotte, a gardener's son 

Caspar, his friend 

First Officer A Landlord . 

Second Officer .— — A Servant.. . 



Third Officer , . . • A Servant from the Inn . 

Madame Deschappelles, wife to M. Deschappelles 

Pauline, her daughter 

Widow Melnotte, mother of Claude 

Janet, daughter to the Landlord 

Marian, maid to Pauline 

A Notary, Servants, &c. 

Scene : Lyons^ and the neighborhood. 



I THE LADY OF LYONS; 



OR, 



LOVE AND PR IDE. 



ACT I. 

Scene I. J room in the house of M, Deschappelles at Lyons. 
The gardens are seen from the open window. 

Pauline reclining on a sofa , Marian, her Maid^ fanning her. 
Flowers and notes on a table beside the sofa. Madame Des- 
chappelles seated. 

Mme. D. Marian, put that rose a little more to the left, 
[Marian alters the position of a rose in Pauline'* s hair^ Ah, so ! 
that improves the hair, the tournure^ the j€ ne sais quoi ! You 
are certainly very handsome, child ! quite my style ; I don't won- 
der that you make such a sensation ! Old, young, rich, and poor, 
do homage to the Beauty of Lyons ! Ah, we live again in our 
children, especially when they have our eyes and complexion ! 

Pau. [^Languidly^ Dear mother, you spoil your Pauline ! 
[^Aside'\ I wish I knew who sent me these flowers ! 

Mme. D. No, child ! If I praise you, it is only to inspire you 
with a proper ambition. You are born to make a great marriage. 
Beauty is valuable or worthless according as you invest the 
property to the best advantage* Marian, go and order the car- 
riage ! [^Exit Marian. 



lO 



THE LADY OF LYONS. [act i. 



Pau, Who can it be that sends me, every day, these beautiful 
flowers ? How sweet they are ! 

Enter Servant. 

Ser. Monsieur Beauscant, madam. 

Alfne. D. Let him enter. [^Exit Servant.^ PauHne, this is 
another ofFer ! I know it is ! Your father should engage an 
additional clerk to keep the account-book of your conquests. 

Enter Beauseant. 

Beau. Ah, ladies, how fortunate I am to find you at home'! 
[^Jslde'] How lovely she looks ! It is a great sacrifice I make 
in marrying into a family in trade ! they will be eternally grateful ! 
[^Jloud'] Madam, you will permit me a word with your charm- 
ing daughter. [^Approaches Pauline^ ivho rises disdainfully.^ 
Mademoiselle, I have ventured to wait upon you, in a hope that 
you must long since have divined. Last night, when you out- 
shone all the beauty of Lyons, you completed your conquest 
over me ! You know that my fortune is not exceeded by any 
estate in the province ; you know that, but for the Revolution, 
which has defrauded me of my titles, I should be noble. May I, 
then, trust that you will not reje£l my alliance ? I offer you my 
hand and heart. 

Pau. [Aside'] He has the air of a man who confers a favour. 
[Aloud'] Sir, you are very condescending, I thank you humbly ; 
but being duly sensible of my own demerits, you must allow me 
to decline the honour you propose. [Courtesies and turns away. 

Beau. Decline ! impossible ! you are not serious ! Madam, 
suffer me to appeal to you. I am a suitor for your daughter's 
hand, the settlements shall be worthy her beauty and my station. 
May I wait on M. Deschappell(^s ? 

Mme. D. M. Deschappelles never interferes in the domestic 
arrangements. You are very obliging. If you were still a marquess, 
or if my daughter were intended to marry a commoner, why, per- 
haps we might give you the preference. 



V 



NE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS, ii 



Beau, A commoner ! we are all commoners in France now. 

Mme. D. In France, yes ; but there is a nobility still left in 
the other countries in Europe. We are quite aware of your good 
qualities, and don't doubt that you will find some lady more suita- 
ble to your pretensions. We shall be always happy to see you as 
an acquaintance, M. Beauseant ! My dear child, the carriage 
will be here presently. 

Beau, Say no more, "madam ! say no more ! \^Aside'\ Refused ! 
and by a merchant's daughter ! Refused ! It will be all over Lyons 
before sunset ! I will go and bury myself in my chateau, study 
philosophy, and turn woman-hater. Refused ! they ought to be 
sent to a madhouse ! Ladies, I have the honour to wish you a 
very good morning. \JExit. 

Mme, D, How forward these men are ! I think, child, we 
kept up our dignity. Any girl, however inexperienced, knows 
how to accept an offer, but it requires a vast deal of address to 
refuse one with proper condescension and disdain. I used to prac- 
tice it at school with the dancing-master ! 

Enter Pamas. 

Dam, Good morning, cousin Deschappelles. Well, Pauline, 
you are recovered from last night's ball ? So many triumphs 
must be very fatiguing. Even M. Glavis sighed most piteously 
when you departed ; but that might be the effect of the supper. 

Pau, M. Glavis, indeed ! 

Mme, D, M. Glavis! as if my daughter would think of M. 
Glavis ! ^ 

Dam, Hey-dey ! why not ? His father left him a very pretty 
fortune, and his birth is higher than yours, cousin Deschappelles. 
But perhaps you are looking to M. Beauseant ; his father was a 
marquess before the Revolution. 

Pau, M. Beauseant ! Cousin, you delight in tormenting me ! 

Mme, D, Don't mind him, Pauline ! Cousin Damas, you 
have no susceptibility of feeling; there is a certain indelicacy in 
all your ideas. M. Beauseant knows already that he is no match 
for my daughter ! 



,2 THE LADT OF LTONS. [act 



i 



Danu Pooh ! pooh ! one would think you intended your 
daughter to marry a prince ! 

Mme. D. Well, and if I did ? — what then ? Many a foreign 
prince — 

Dam. \_Inter7'upUng her] Foreign prince ! foreign fiddle-stick ! 
you ought to be ashamed of such nonsense at your time of life. 

Mme. D. My time of life ! That is an expression never 
applied to any lady till she is sixty-nine ^d three-quarters ; and 
only then by the clergyman of the parish. 

Enter Servant, 

Ser. Madam, the carriage is at the door. " [^Exit. 

Mme. D. Come, child, put on your bonnet ; you really have a 
very thorough-bred air ; not at all like your poor father. [^Fondly] 
Ah, you little coquette! when a young lady is always making 
mischief, it is a sure sign that she takes after her mother ! 

Pau. Good day, cousin Damas, and a better humour to you. 
\Jjoing back to the table and taking the flowers] Who could have sent 
me these flowers ? \^Exeunt Pauline and Madame Deschappelles, 

Dam. That would be an excellent girl if her head had not 
been turned. I fear she is now become incorrigible ! Zounds, 
what a lucky fellow I am to be still a bachelor ! They may talk 
of the devotion of the sex, but the most faithful attachment in 
life is that of a woman in love — with herself. \^Exit, 

Scene II. The exterior of a small Village Inn^ sign^ the Golden 
Lion^ a few leagues from Lyons, 

Beau. [^Behind the scenes'] Yes, you may bait the horses ; we 
shall rest here an hour. 

Enter Beauseant and Glavis, 

Gla. Really, my dear Beauseant, consider that I have promised 
to spend a day or two with you at your chateau, that I am quite 
at your mercy for my entertainment, and yet you are as silent and 



SCENE II.] THE LADY OF LTONS. 13 

gloomy as a mute at a funeral, or an Englishman at a party of 

pleasure. 

Beau. Bear with me ! the fact is that I am miserable ! 

Gla. You, the richest and gayest bachelor in Lyons ? 

Beau. It is because I am a bachelor that I am miserable. 
Thou knowest Pauline, the only daughter of the rich merchant, 
M. Deschappelles r 

Gla. Know her ? who does not ? As pretty as Venus and as 
proud as Juno. 

Beau. Her taste is worse than her pride, [^Drawing himself 
up] Know, Glavis, she has actually refused me ! 

Gla. [^Aside] So she has me ! very consoling ! In all cases of 
heart-ache, the application of another man's disappointment draws 
out the pain, and allays the irritation^ [^Aloud] Refused you ! and 
wherefore ? 

Beau. I know not, unless it be because the Revolution swept 
away my father's title of marquess, and she will not marry a com- 
moner. Now, as we have no noblemen left in France, as we are 
all citizens and equals, she can only hope that, in spite of the 
war, some English Milord or German Count will risk his life by 
coming to Lyons, that this fille du Roturier may condescend to 
accept him. Refused me, and with scorn ! By heaven, I'll not 
submit to it tamely : I'm in a perfect: fever of mortification and 
rage. Refused me^ indeed ! 

Gla. Be comforted, my dear fellow, I will tell you a secret. 
For the same reason she refused me I 

Beau. You ! that's a very different matter ! But give me your 
hand, Glavis, we'll think of some plan to humble her. Mille 
dtables ! I should like to see her married to a strolling player ! 

Enter Landlord from the Inn, 

Land. Your servant, citizen Beauseant, servant, sir. Perhaps 
you will take dinner before you proceed to your chateau ; our 
larder is most plentifully suppHed, 

Beau. I have no appetite. 



14 THE LADY OF LTONS, \^ct i. 

Gla. Nor 1. Still it is bad travelling on an empty stomach. 
What have you got ? \_Takes and looks over bill of fare. 

\Shout within: 'Long live the Prince ! Long live the Prince !' 

Beau, The prince ! vi^hat prince is that ? I thought we had 
no princes left in France. 

Land. Ha ! ha ! the lads alw^ays call him prince. He has just 
won the prize in a shooting-match, and they are taking him home 
in triumph. 

Beau, Him ! and who's Mr. Him? 

Land, Who should he be but the pride of the village, Claude 
Melnutte ? Of course you have heard of Claude Melnotte. 

Gla. \_Giving hack the bill of fare'] Never had that honour. 
Soup, ragout of hare, roast chicken, and, in short, all you have ! 

Beau. The son of old Melnotte, the gardener ? " 

Land. Exactly so, a wonderful young man. 

Beau. How, wonderful ? Are his cabbages better than other 
people's ? 

Land. Nay, he don't garden any more ; his father left him 
well ofF. He's only a genus. 

Gla. A what ? 

Land. A genus ! a man who can do everything in life except 
anything that's useful ; that's a genus. 

Beau. You raise my curiosity ; proceed. 

Land. Well, then, about four years ago, old Melnotte died, and 
left his son well to do in the world. We then all observed that 
a great change came over young Claude : he took to reading and 
Latin, and hired a professor from Lyons, who had so much in his 
head that he was forced to wear a great full-bottom wig to cover 
it. Then he took a fencing-master, and a dancing-master, and a 
music-master ; and then he learned to paint ; and at last it was 
said that young Claude was to go to Paris, and set up for a painter. 
The lads laughed at him at first ; but he is a stout fellow, is 
Claude, and as brave as a lion, and soon taught them to laugh the 
wrong side of their mouths ; and now all the boys swear by him, 
and all the girls pray for him. 



SCENE II.] THE LADY OF LYONS, 15 

Beau. A promising youth, certainly ! And why do they call 
him prince ? 

Land, Partly because he is at the head of them all, and partly 
because he has such a proud way with him, and wears such fine 
clothes, and in short, looks like a prince. 

Beau, And what could have turned the foolish fellow's brain ? 
The Revolution, I suppose ? 

Land, Yes, the revolution that turns us all topsy-turvy, the 
revolution of Love. 

Beau, Romantic young Corydon. And with whom is he in 
love ? 

Land, Why, but it is a secret, gentlemen. 

Beau, Oh ! certainly. 

Land, Why, then, I hear from his mother, good soul ! that it 
is no less a person than the Beauty of Lyons, Pauline Deschap- 
pelles. 

Beau, and Gla. Ha ! ha ! Capital ! 

Land, You may laugh, but it is as true as I stand here. 

Beau, And what does the Beauty of Lyons say to his suit ? 
' Land, Lord, sir, she never even condescended to look at him, 
though when he was a boy he worked in her father's garden. 

Beau, Are you sure of that ? 

Land, His mother says that Mademoiselle does not know him 
by sight. 

Beau, \_Taking Glavis aside~\ I have hit it, I have hit it ; here 
is our revenge ! Here is a prince for our haughty damsel. Do 
you take me ? 

Gla, Deuce take me if I do ! ^ 

Beau, Blockhead ! it's as clear as a map. What if we could 
make this elegant clown pass himself ofF as a foreign prince ? lend 
him money, clothes, equipages for the purpose ? make him pro- 
pose to Pauline ? marry Pauline ? Would it not be delicious ? 

Gla, Ha ! ha ! Excellent ! But how shall we support the 
necessary expenses of his highness ? 

Beau, Pshaw! Revenge is worth a much larger sacrifice than 



i6 THE LADY OF LYONS. [act i. 

a few hundred louis ; as for details, my valet is the truest fellow 
in the world, and shall have the appointment of his highness' 
establishment. Let's go to him at once, and see if he be really 
this Admirable Crichton. 

Gla, With all my heart ; but the dinner ? 

Beau, Always thinking of dinner ! Hark ye, landlord ; how 
far is it to young Melnotte's cottage ? I should like to see such 
a prodigy. 

Land, Turn down the lane, then strike across the common, 
and you will see his mother's cottage. 

Beau, True, he lives with his mother. [^Jstde^ We will not 
trust to an old woman's discretion ; better send for him hither ! 
I'll just step in and write him a note. Come, Glavis. 

Gla, Yes, Beauseant, Glavis and Co., manufafturers of princes, 
wholesale and retail, — an uncommonly genteel line of business. 
But why so grave ? 

Beau. You think only of the sport, I of the revenge. 

\^Exeunt within the Inn. 

Scene III. The interior of Melnotte's Cottage, 
Flowers placed here and there ^ a guitar on an oaken table^ with 
a portfolio^ ^c, ; a picture on an easel^ covered by a curtain , 
fencing-foils crossed over the mantel-piece , an attempt at refine- 
ment in spite of the homeliness of the furniture^ &c, , a stair- 
case to the right conducts to the upper story. 
Widow Melnotte discovered. 

l^Shout within : ' Long live Claude Melnotte ! Long live the 
Prince !'] 

ff^id. Hark ! there's my dear son j earned off the prize, I'm 
sure ; and now he'll want to treat them all. 

Claude Melnotte. [^Opening the door^ What ! you will not come 
in, my friends ! Well, well, there's a trifle to make merry else- 
where. Good day to you all, good day ! 

[^Shouts within : 'Hurrah ! Long live Prince Claude !' 



SCENE in. THE LADY OF LYONS. 17 

Enter Claude Melnotte, with a rifle in his hand, 

Mel. Give me joy, dear mother ! I've won the prize ! never 
missed one shot ! Is it not handsome, this gun ? 

IVid. Humph ! Well, vs^hat is it worth, Claude ? 

Mel. Worth ! What is a riband worth to a soldier ? Worth ! 
everything ! Glory is priceless ! 

JVid. Leave glory to great folks. Ah ! Claude, Claude ! cas- 
tles in the air cost a vast deal to keep up ! How is all this to 
end ? What good does it do thee to learn Latin, and sing songs, 
and play on the guitar, and fence, and dance, and paint pictures ? 
All very fine ; but what does it bring in ? 

Mel. Wealth ! wealth, my mother ! Wealth to the mind, wealth 
to the heart, high thoughts, bright dreams, the hope of fame, the 
ambition to be worthier to love Pauline. 

Wid. My poor son ! The young lady will never think of thee. 

Mel. Do the stars think of us ? Yet if the prisoner see them 
shine in his dungeon, wouldst thou bid him turn aw^y from their 
lustre? Even from this low cell, poverty, I lift my eyes to Pau- 
line and forget my chains. [^Goes to the picture and draws aside 
the curtain]^ See, this is her image, painted from memory. Oh, 
how the canvas wrongs her ! [ Takes up the brush and throws it 
aside^ I shall never be a painter ! I can paint no likeness but 
one, and that is above all art. I would turn soldier, France needs 
soldiers ! But to leave the air that Pauline breathes ! What is 
the hour ? so late ? I will tell thee a secret, mother. Thou 
knowest that for the last six weeks I have sent every day the 
rarest flowers to Pauline? she wears them. I have seen them on 
her breast. Ah, and then the whole universe seemed filled with 
odours ! I have now grown more bold, I have poured my worship 
into poetry, I have sent verses to Pauline, I have signed them 
with my own name. My messenger ought to be back by this 
time. I bade him wait for an answer. 

ff^id. And what answer do you expeft, Claude ? 

Mel. That which the Queen of Navarre sent to the poor 



i8 THE LADY OF LTONS. [act i. 

troubadour: 'Let me see the Oracle that can tell nations I am 
beautiful !' She will admit me. I shall hear her speak, I shall 
meet her eyes, I shall read upon her cheek the sweet thoughts 
that translate themselves into blushes. Then, then, oh, then, she 
may forget that I am the peasant's son ! 

fVid. Nay, if she v/ill but hear thee talk, Claude ! 

MeL I foresee it all. She will tell me that desert is the true 
rank. She will give me a badge, a flower, a glove ! Oh, rap- 
ture ! I shall join the armies of the Republic, I shall rise, I shall 
win a name that beauty will not blush to hear. I shall return 
with the right to say to her, 'See, how love does not level the 
proud, but raise the humble !' Oh, how my heart swells within 
me ! Oh, what glorious prophets of the future are youth and 
hope ! \^Knock at the door, 

Wld, Come in. 

Enter Gaspar. 

MeL Welcome, Gaspar, welcome. Where is the letter ? 
Why do you turn away, man? where is the letter? \Gaspar 
*gives him one^ This ! This is mine, the one I entrusted to thee. 
Didst thou not leave it ? 

Gas. Yes, I left it. 

MeL My own verses returned to me ! Nothing else ? 

Gas, Thou wilt be proud to hear how thy messenger was hon- 
oured. For thy sake, Melnotte, I have borne that which no 
Frenchman can bear without disgrace. 

MeL Disgrace, Gaspar ! Disgrace ? 

Gas. I gave thy letter to the porter, who passed it from lackey 
to lackey till it reached the lady it was meant for. 

MeL It reached her, then ; you are sure of that ? It reached 
her ; well, well ! 

Gas. It reached her, and was returned to me with blows. 
Dost hear, Melnotte ? with blows ! Death ! are we slaves still, 
that we are to be thus dealt with, we peasants ? 

AleL With blows? No, Gaspar, no ; not blows ! 

Gas. I could show thee the marks if it were not so deep a 



SCENE in.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 19 

shame to bear them. The lackey who tossed thy letter into the 
mire swore that his lady and her mother never were so insulted. 
What could thy letter contain, Claude ? 

Mel, [^Looking over the letter] Not a line that a serf might not 
have written to an empress. No, not one. 

Gas, They promise thee the same greeting they gave me, if 
thou w\\t pass that way. Shall we endure this, Claude ? 

Mel, \JVringtng Caspar's hancf\ Forgive me, the fault was 
mine, I have brought this on thee ; I will not forget it ; thou 
shalt be avenged ! The heartless insolence ! 

Gas, Thou art moved, Melnotte ; think not of me ; I would 
go through fire and water to serve thee ; but a blow ! It is not 
the bruise that galls, it is the blush^ Melnotte ! 

Mel, Say, what message ? How insulted ! Wherefore ? 
What the offence ? 

Gas, Did you not write to Pauline Deschappelles, the daughter 
of the rich merchant ? 

Mel, Well? 

Gas, Are you not a peasant, a gardener's son ? that was the 
offence. Sleep on it, Melnotte. Blows to a French citizen, 
blows ! \_Exit, 

W'ld, Now you are cured, Claude ! 

Mel, \Tearing the letter'] So do I scatter her image to the 
winds ; I will stop her in the open streets, I will insult her, I will 
beat her menial ruffians, I will — \T'urns suddenly to Widow~\ 
Mother, am I hump-backed, deformed, hideous ? 

md. You! 

Mel, A coward, a thief, a liar ? 

Wid, You! 

Mel, Or a dull fool, a vain, drivelling, brainless idiot ? 

JVid, No, no. 

Mel, What am I then, worse than all these ? Why, I am a 
peasant ! What has a peasant to do with love ? Vain Revolu- 
tions, why lavish your cruelty on the great ? Oh, that we, we, 
the hewers of wood and drawers of water, had been swept away, 



20 ^ THE LADY OF LYONS. [act i. 

so that the proud might learn what the world would be without 
us. ' \^Knoci at the door. 

Enter Servant from the Inn. 

Ser. A letter for Citizen Melnotte. 

Mel. A letter ! from her perhaps ; who sent thee ? 

Ser. Why, Monsieur, I mean Citizen, Beauseant, who stops 
to dine at the Golden Lion, on his way to his chateau. 

Mel. Beauseant ! [^Reads.'\ ' Young man, I know thy secret, 
thou lovest above thy station : if thou hast wit, courage, and dis- 
cretion, I can secure to thee the realization of thy most sanguine 
hopes ; and the sole condition I ask in return is, that thou 
shalt be steadfast to thine own ends. I shall demand from thee 
a solemn oath to marry her whom thou lovest ; to bear her to 
thine home on thy wedding night. I am serious ; if thou wouldst 
learn more, lose not a moment, but follow the bearer of this let- 
ter to thy friend and patron — Charles Beauseant.' 

Mel. Can I believe my eyes ? Are our own passions the sor- 
cerers that raise up for us spirits of good or evil ? I will go 
instantly. \^Exit Servant. 

Wid. What is this, Claude ! 

Mel. ' Marry her whom thou lovest ' — ' bear her to thine own 
home.' Oh, revenge and love ; which of you is the stronger ? 
\Ga%ing on the picture'^ Sweet face, thou smilest on me from the 
canvas : weak fool that I am, do I then love her still ? No, it is 
the vision of my own romance that I have worshipped : it is the 
reality to which I bring scorn for scorn. Adieu, mother : I will 
return anon. My brain reels, the earth swims before me. 
\Looking again at the letter"] No, it is not a mockery ; I do not 
dream ! Exit. — -The curtain falls. 



SCENE III.] THE LADT OF LTONS. 21 



ACT II. 

Scene I. The gardens of M, Deschappelles^ house at Lyons, 
The house seen at the back of the stage. 

Enter Beauseant and Glavis. 

Beau. Well, what think you of my plot ? Has it not suc- 
ceeded to a miracle ? The instant that I introduced his highness 
the Prince of Como, to the pompous mother and the scornful 
daughter, it was all over with them : he came, he saw, he con- 
quered : and, though it is not many days since he arrived, they 
have already promised him the hand of Pauline. 

Gla. It is lucky, though, that you told them his highness trav- 
elled incognito, for fear the Directory — who are not very fond of 
princes — should lay him by the heels ; for he has a wonderful wish 
to keep up his rank, and scatters our gold about with as much 
coolness as if he were watering his own flower-pots. 

Beau. True, he is damnably extravagant ; I think the sly dog 
does it out of malice. However, it must be owned that he 
reflects credit on his loyal subjects, and makes a very pretty figure 
in his fine clothes with my diamond snufF-box. 

Gla. And my diamond ring ! But do you think that he will 
be firm to the last ? I fancy I see symptoms of relenting : he 
will never keep up his rank, if he once let out his conscience. 

Beau. His oath binds him ; he cannot retra£t without being 
forsworn, and those low fellows are always superstitious ! But as 
it is, I tremble lest he be discovered : that bluflF Colonel Damas — 
Madame Deschappelles' cousin — evidently suspecSls him : we must 
make haste and conclude the farce : I have thought of a plan to 
end it this very day. 

Gla. This very day ! Poor Pauline ! her dream will be soon 
over. 

Beau. Yes, this day they shall be married ; this evening, ac- 



22 THE LADY OF LYONS. [act nflj 

cording to his oath, he shall carry his bride to the Golden Lion,^ 
and then pomp, equipage, retinue, and title, all shall vanish a^l| 
once \ and her highness, the princess, shall find that she has 
refused the son of a marquess, to marry the son of a gardener. 
Oh, Pauline ! once loved, now hated, yet still not relinquished, 
thou shalt drain the cup to the dregs, thou shalt know what it is 
to be humbled ! 

Enter ^ from the house ^ Melnotte, as the Prince of Como^ leading 
in Pauline ; Madame Deschappelles fanning herself ^ and 
Colonel Damas. 

\Beauseant and Glavis bow respe^fully, Pauline and 
Melnotte walk apart. 

Mme. D. Good morning, gentlemen ; really I am so fatigued 
with laughter ; the dear prince is so entertaining. What wit he 
has ! Any one might see that he has spent his whole hfe in courts. 

Dam. And what the deuce do you know about courts, cousin 
Deschappelles ? You women regard men just as you buy books ; 
you never care about what is in them, but how they are bound 
and lettered. 'Sdeath, I don't think you would even look at your 
Bible, if it had not a title to it. 

Mme. D. How coarse you are, cousin Damas ! quite the man- 
ners of a barrack ; you don't deserve to be one of our family ; 
really we must drop your acquaintance when Pauline marries. I 
cannot patronize any relations that would discredit my future son- 
in-law, the Prince of Como. 

Mel. \_Advancing\ These are beautiful gardens, madam. 
\Beauseant and Glavis retire.'] Who planned them ? 

Mme. D. A gardener named Melnotte, your highness, an hon- 
est man who knew his station. I can't say as much for his son, 
a presuming fellow, who, ha ! ha ! actually wrote verses, such 
doggerel ! to my daughter. 

Pau. Yes, how you would have laughed at them. Prince ! you 
who write such beautiful verses ! 

Mel, This Melnotte must be a monstrous impudent person ! 



SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 23 

Dam. Is he good-looking ? 

Mme. D. I never notice such canaille ; an ugly, mean-looking 
clown, if I remember right. 

Dam. Yet I heard your porter say he was wonderfully like his 
highness. 

Mel. \_Taking snuff ^ You are complimentary. 

Mme. D. For shame, cousin Damas ! like the prince, indeed. 

Pau. Like you ! Ah, mother, like our beautiful prince ! I'll 
never speak to you again, cousin Damas. 

Mel. \_Jside~\ Hum ! rank is a great beautifier ! I never 
passed for an Apollo while I was a peasant ; if I am so handsome 
as a prince, what should I be as an ernperor ? [^Aloud^ Monsieur 
Beauseant, will you honour me ? \_Offers snuff. 

Beau. No, your highness ; I have no small vices. 

Mel. Nay, if it were a vice, you'd be sure to have it. Monsieur 
Beauseant. 

Mme. D. Ha ! ha ! how very severe ! what wit ! 

Beau. [^In a rage and aside\ Curse his impertinence ! 

Mme. D. What a superb snufF-box ! 

Pau. And what a beautiful ring ! 

Mel. You like the box, a trifle, interesting perhaps from asso- 
ciations, a present from Louis XIV. to my great-great-grand- 
mother. Honour me by accepting it. 

Beau. [^Plucking him by the sleeve'] How ! what the devil ! My 
box ! are you mad ! It is. worth five hundred louis. 

Mel. [^Unheeding him and turning to Pauline'] And you like this 
ring ? Ah, it has indeed a lustre since your eyes have shone on 
it. [^Placing it on her finger'] Henceforth hold me, sweet enchant- 
ress, the Slave of the Ring. 

Gla. \_Pulling him] Stay, stay, what are you about ? My 
maiden aunt's legacy, a diamond of the first water. You shall 
be hanged for swindling, sir. 

Mel. \_Pretending not to hear] It is curious, this ring ; it is the 
one with which my grandfather, the Doge of Venice, married 
the Adriatic ! [Madame and Pauline examine the ring. 



24 THE LADY OF LTONS. [act ii. 

Mel. [To Beauseant and Glavis] Fie, gentlemen! princes must 
be generous ! \Turns to Damas^ who watches them closely] These 
kind friends have my interest so much at heart, that they are as 
careful of my property as if it were their own. 

Beau, and Gla, \Co7ifusedly\ Ha ! ha ! very good joke that ! 

[Appear to remonstrate with Melnotte in dumb show. 

Dam. What's all that whispering? I am sure there is some 
juggle here : hang me, if I think he is an Italian after all. 'Gad ! 
ril try him. Servitore umillissimo, Excellenza.^ 

Mel. Hum, what does he mean, I wonder ? 

Dam. Godo di vedervi in buona salute.^ 

Mel. Hem, hem ! 

Dam. Fa bel tempo ! che si dice di nuovo ?^ 

Mel. Well, sir, what's all that gibberish ? 

Darn. Oh, oh ! only Italian, your highness ! The Prince of 
Como does not understand his own language ! 

Mel. Not as you pronounce it ; who the deuce could ? 

Mtne. D. Ha ! ha ! cousin Damas, never pretend to what you 
don't know. 

Pau. Ha ! ha ! cousin Damas -, you speak Italian, indeed ! 

[Makes a ?nocking gesture at him. 

Beau. [To Glavis^ Clever dog! how ready ! 

Gla. Ready, yes ; with my diamond ring ! Damn his readi- 
ness ! 

Dam. Laugh at me ! laugh at a colonel in the French army ! 
The fellow's an impostor ; I know he is. I'll see if he under- 
stands fighting as well as he does Italian. [Goes up to hi?n and^ 
aside'] Sir, you are a jackanapes ! Can you construe that ? 

Mel. No, sir ; I never construe affronts in the presence of 
ladies ; by-and-by I shall be happy to take a lesson, or give 
one. 

Dam. I'll find the occasion, never fear ! 

Mme. D. Where are you going, cousin ? 

^ Your Excellency's most humble servant. ' I am glad to see you in good health. 
' Fine weather ! what news is there ? 



SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 25 

Dam, To correcSl my Italian. [^Exlt, 

Beau, [To Glavis^ Let us after and pacify him ; he evidently 
suspects something. 

Gla. Yes ! but my diamond ring ! 

Beau. And my box ! We are over-taxed, fellow-subje£l ! we 
must stop the supplies, and dethrone the prince. 

Gla. Prince ! he ought to be heir-apparent to King Stork ! 

[Exeunt Beauseant and Glavis. 

Mme. D, Dare I ask your highness to forgive my cousin's 
insufferable vulgarity ? 

Pau, Oh yes ! you will forgive his manner for the sake of his 
heart. 

Mel. And the sake of his cousin. Ah, madam, there is 
one comfort in rank, we are so sure of our position that we are 
not easily affronted. Besides, M. Damas has bought the right of 
indulgence from his friends, by never showing it to his enemies. 

Pau, Ah! he is, indeed, as brave in adlion as he is rude in 
speech. He rose from the ranks to his present grade, and in two 
years. 

Mel. In two years ! two years, did you say ? 

Mme. D. [Aside^ I don't like leaving girls alone with their 
lovers ; but with a prince, it would be so ill-bred to be prudish ! 

{Exit. 

Mel. You can be proud of your connedtion with one who 
owes his position to merit, not birth. 

Pau. Why, yes ; but still — 

Mel. Still what, Pauline ? 

Pau. There is something glorious in the heritage of command. 
A man who has ancestors is like a representative of the past. 

Mel. True ; but, like other representatives, nine times out of 
ten he is a silent member. Ah, Pauline ! not to the past, but to 
the future, looks true nobility, and finds its blazon in posterity. 

Pau. You say this to please me, who have no ancestors ; but 
you, prince, must be proud of so illustrious a race ! 

Mel. No, no ! I would not, were I fifty times a prince, be a 



20 THE LADY OF LTONS. [act ii. 

pensioner on the dead! I honour birth and ancestry, when they 
are regarded as the incentives to exertion, not the title-deeds to 
sloth ! I honour the laurels that overshadow the graves of our 
fathers ; it is our Yathers I emulate, when I desire that beneath 
the evergreen I myself have planted, my own ashes may repose ! 
Dearest ! couldst thou but see with my eyes ! 

Pau, I cannot forego pride when I look on thee, and think 
that thou lovest me. Sweet prince, tell me again of thy palace 
by the Lake of Como ; it is so pleasant to hear of thy splendours, 
since thou didst swear to me that they would be desolate without 
Pauline ; and when thou describest them, it is with a mocking lip 
and a noble scorn, as if custom had made thee disdain greatness. 

MeL Nay, dearest, nay, if thou wouldst have me paint 
The home to which, could love fulfil its prayers, 
This hand would lead thee, listen ! ^ A deep vale 
Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world ; 
Near a clear lake, margin'd by fruits of gold 
And whispering myrtles ; glassing softest skies, 
As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows. 
As I would have thy fate ! 

Pau, My own dear love ! 

AleL A palace lifting to eternal summer 
Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower 
Of coolest foliage musical with birds, 
Whose songs should syllable thy name ! At noon 
We'd sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder 
Why Earth could be unhappy, while the Heavens 
Still left us youth and love ! We'd have no friends 

^ The reader will observe that Melnotte evades the request of Pauline. He proceeds 
to describe a home, which he does not say he possesses, but to which he would lead her, 
* could Love fulfil its prayers.'' This caution is intended as a reply to a sagacious critic 
who censures the description, because it is not an exact and prosaic inventory of the 
characteristics of the Lake of Como ! When Melnotte, for instance, talks of birds * that 
syllable the name of Pauline,* — by the way, a literal translation from an Italian poet — 
he is not thinking of ornithology, but probably of the Arabian Nights. He is venting 
the extravagant, but natural, enthusiasm of the poet and the lover. 



SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LTONS. 27 

That were not lovers ; no ambition, save 

To excel them all in love j vt^e'd read no books 

That Vi^ere not tales of love, that we might smile 

To think how poorly eloquence of words 

Translates the poetry of hearts hke ours ! 

And when night came, amidst the breathless Heavens 

We'd guess what star should be our home when love 

Becomes immortal ; while the perfumed light 

Stole through the mists of alabaster lamps, 

And every air was heavy with the sighs 

Of orange-groves and music from sweet lutes. 

And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth 

P the midst of roses ! Dost thou like the picture ? 

Pan, Oh, as the bee upon the flower, I hang 
Upon the honey of thy eloquent tongue ! 
Am I not blest ? And if I love too wildly, 
Who would not love thee, like Pauline ? 

Mel. IBitterly'] Oh, false one ! 

It is the prince thou lovest, not the man ; 
If in the stead of luxury, pomp, and power, 
I had painted poverty, and toil, and care. 
Thou hadst found no honey on my tongue ; Pauline, 
That is not love ! 

Pau. ' Thou wrong'st me, cruel prince ! 

At first, in truth, I might not have been won. 
Save through the weakness of a flatter'd pride ; 
But now.^ oh ! trust me *, couldst thou fall from power 
And sink — 

MeL As low as that poor gardener's son 

Who dared to lift his eyes to thee ? — 

Pau. Even then, 

Methinks thou wouldst be only made more dear 
By the sweet thought that I could prove how deep 
Is woman's love ! We are like the inse6ls, caught 
By the poor glittering of a garish flame \ 



28 THE LADY OF LTONS. [act ii. 

But oh, the wings once scorch'd, the brightest star 
Lures us no more ; and by the fatal light 
We cling till death ! 

MeL Angel ! \^Jside\ Oh conscience ! conscience ! 

It must not be ; her love hath grown a torture 
Worse than her hate. I will at once to Beauseant, 
And — ha! he comes. Sweet love, one moment leave me, 
I have business with these gentlemen — I — I 
,Will forthwith join you. 

Pau, Do not tarry long ! \\ 

Enter Beauseant and Glavis. 

MeL Release me from my oath. I will not marry her ! 

Beau, Then thou art perjured. 

MeL No, I was not in my senses when I swore to thee to 
marry her ! I was blind to all but her scorn ! deaf to all but my 
passion and my rage ! Give me back my poverty and my honour ! 

Beau, It is too late, you must marry her ! and this day ! 1 
have a story already coined, and sure to pass current. This 
Damas suspe6ts thee, he will set the police to work ; thou wilt be 
detefled, Pauline will despise and execrate thee. Thou wilt be 
sent to the common gaol as a swindler. 

MeL Fiend! 

Beau. And in the heat of the girl's resentment-^you know of 
what resentment is capable — and the parents' shame, she will be 
induced to marry the first that offers, even perhaps your humble 
servant. 

MeL You ! No ; that were worse, for thou hast no mercy ! 
I will marry her, I will keep my oath. Quick, then, with the 
damnable invention thou art hatching ; quick, if thou wouldst 
not have me strangle thee or myself. 

Gla. What a tiger ! Too fierce for a prince ; he ought to have 
been the Grand Turk. 

Beau, Enough, I will despatch ; be prepared. 

\_Exeunt Beauseant and Glavis, 



SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 29 

Einter Dam as, with two swords. 

Dam, Now, then, sir, the ladies are no longer your excuse. I 
have brought you a couple of dicSlionaries ; let us see if your 
highness can find out the Latin for bilbo. 

Mel, Away, sir ! I am in no humour for jesting. 

Dam, I see you understand something of the grammar ; you 
dechne the noun-substantive ' small-sword ' with great ease ; but 
that won't do, you must take a lesson in parsing. 

Mel, Fool! 

Dam, Sir, as sons take after their mother, so the man who calls 
me a fool insults the lady who bore me ; there's no escape for 
you, fight you shall, or — 

Mel. Oh, enough, enough! take your ground. \They fight , 
Damas is disarmed, Melnotte takes up the sword and returns it to 
Damas respectfully^ A just punishment to the brave soldier who 
robs the state of its best property — the sole right to his valour and 
his life ! 

Dam, Sir, you fence exceedingly well ; you must be a man 
of honour ; I don't care a jot whether you are a prince ; but 
a man who has carte and tierce at his fingers' ends must be a 
gentleman. 

Mel, \Aside'\ Gentleman ! Ay, I was a gentleman before I 
turned conspirator ; for honest men are the gentlemen of Nature ! 
Colonel, they tell me you rose from the ranks 

Dam, I did. 

Mel, And in two years ? 

Dam, It is true ; that's no wonder in our army at present. 
Why, the oldest general in the service is scarcely thirty, and we 
have some of two-and-twenty. 

Mel, Two-and-twenty ! 

Dam, Yes ; in the French army, now-a-days, promotion is not 
a matter of purchase. We are all heroes, because we may be all 
generals. We have no fear of the cypress, because we may all 
hope for the laurel. 



30 THE LADY OF LYONS. [act ii. 

MeL A general at two-and-twenty ! [ Turning away] Sir, I 
may ask of you a favour one of these days. 

Dam, Sir, I shall be proud to grant it. It is astonishing how 
much I like a man after I've fought with him ! 

\^Hides the swords. 

Enter Madame Deschappelles and Beauseant. 

Mme, D. Oh, prince, prince ! What do I hear ? You must 
fly, you must quit us ! ^h 

MeL I ! W 

Beau, Yes, prince : read this letter, just received from my 
friend at Paris, one of the Directory ; they suspe£t you of designs 
against the Republic: they are very suspicious of princes, and 
your family take part with the Austrians. Knowing that I intro- 
duced your highness at Lyons, my friend writes to me to say that 
you must quit the town immediately, or you will be arrested, 
thrown into prison, perhaps guillotined ! Fly ! I will order 
horses to your carriage instantly. Fly to Marseilles ; there you 
can take ship to Leghorn. ^HJ 

Mme, D. And what's to become of Pauline ? Am I not to be 
a mother to a princess, after all ? ^^ 

Enter Pauline and Monsieur Deschappelles. " 

Pau, [Throwing herself into Melnotte's arms] You must leave 
us ! Leave Pauline ! 

Beau. Not a moment is to be wasted. 

M. Des. I will go to the magistrates and inquire — 

Beau. Then he is lost ; the magistrates, hearing he is suspe£ted>^ 
will order his arrest. |H| 

Mme. D, And shall I not be Princess Dowager ? 

Beau. Why not ? There is only one thing to be done : send 
for the priest, let the marriage take place at once, and the prince 
carry home a bride ! 

Mel. Impossible ! {Aside] Villain ! 

Mme. D. What, lose my child ? 

Beau. And gain a princess ! 



leav^ 

m 



SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LTONS. 31 

Mme. D. Oh, Monsieur Beauseant, you are so very kind, it 
must be so, we ought not to be selfish, my daughter's happiness is 
at stake. She will go away, too, in a carriage and six ! 

Pau, Thou art here still; I cannot part from thee, my heart 
will break. 

Mel, But thou wilt not consent to this hasty union ? thou wilt 
not wed an outcast, a fugitive ? 

Pau. Ah ! If thou art in danger, who should share it but 
Pauline ? 

Alel. [^Jside\ Distraction ! If the earth could swallow me ! 

M. Des* Gently ! gently ! The settlements, the contrails, my 
daughter's dowry ! 

Mel. The dowry ! I am not base enough for that ; no, not 
one farthing ! 

Beau, [To Madame'] Noble fellow ! Really, your good husband 
is too mercantile in these matters. Monsieur Deschappelles, you 
hear his highness : we can arrange the settlements by proxy ; 'tis 
the way with people of quality. 

M. Des, But— 

Mme, D, Hold your tongue ! Don't expose yourself! 

Beau, I will bring the priest in a trice. Go in all of you and 
prepare j the carriage shall be at the door before the ceremony is 
over. 

Mme, D, Be sure there are six horses, Beauseant ! You are 
very good to have forgiven us for refusing you ; but, you see — a 
prince ! 

Beau, And such a prince ! Madam, I cannot blush at the suc- 
cess of so illustrious a rival. \_Jside~\ Now will I follow them to 
the village, enjoy my triumph, and to-morrow, in the hour of 
thy shame and grief, I think, proud girl, thou wilt prefer even 
these arms to those of the gardener's son. [Exit, 

Mme D, Come, Monsieur Deschappelles, give your arm to her 
highness that is to be. 

M, Des, I don't like doing business in such a hurry ; 'tis not 
the way with the house of Deschappelles and Co. 



32 THE LADY OF LTONS. [act hi. 

Mme. D. There, now, you fancy you are in the counting-house, 
don't you ? [^Pushes him to Pauline, 

MeL Stay, stay, Pauline, one word. Have you no scruple, no 
fear ? Speak, it is not yet too late. 

Pau, When I loved thee, thy fate became mine. Triumph or 
danger, joy or sorrow, I am by thy side. 

Dam, Well, well, prince, thou art a lucky man to be so loved. 
She is a good little girl in spite of her foibles ; make her as happy as if 
she were not to be a princess. \_Slapping him on the shoulder] Come, 
. sir, I wish you joy, young, tender, lovely ; zounds, I envy you ! 

JldeL \lVho has stood apart in gloomy abstraction.] 
Do you ? Wise judges are we of each other. 
You envy me ! I thank you ! You may read 
My joy upon my brow. I thank you, sir ! 
If hearts had audible language, you would hear 
What mine would answer when you talk of envy. 

[ The curtain falls ^ 

ACT III. 

Scene I. The exterior of the Golden Lion $ time^ twilight. The 
moon rises during the scene. 

Enter Landlord and his Daughter from the Inn. 

Land. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Well, I never shall get over it. Our 
Claude is a prince with a vengeance now. His carriage breaks 
down at my inn ; ha ! ha ! 

Janet. And what airs the young lady gives herself! 'Is this the 
best room you have, young woman ?' with such a toss of the head ! 

Land. Well, get in, Janet, get in and see to the supper : the 
servants must sup before they go back. [^Exeunt. 

Enter Beauseant and Glavis. 
Beau. You see our princess is lodged at last ; one stage more, 
and she'll be at her journey's end, the beautiful palace at the foot 
of the Alps ! ha ! ha ! 



SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LTONS. 33 

Gla. Faith, I pity the poor Pauline, especially if she's going to 
sup at the Golden Lion. [^Makes a wry Jace,'] I shall never for- 
get that cursed ragout. 

Enter Melnotte /rorn the Inn, 

Beau, Your servant, my prince ; you reigned most worthily. 
I condole with you on your abdication. I am afraid that your 
highness' retinue are not very faithful servants. I think they will 
quit you in the moment of your fall, 'tis the fate of greatness. 
But you are welcome to your fine clothes, also the diamond 
snufF-box, which Louis XIV. gave to your great-great-grand- 
mother. 

Gla. And the ring, with which your grandfather the Doge of 
Venice married the Adriatic. 

Mel. I have kept my oath, gentlemen ; say, have I kept my 
oath ? 

Beau, Most religiously. 

Mel. Then you have done with me and mine, away with you ! 

Beau, How, knave ? 

Mel, Look you, our bond is over. Proud conquerors that we 
are, we have won the victory over a simple girl, compromised her 
honour, embittered her life, blasted, in the^ very blossoms, all the 
flowers of her youth. This is your triumph j it is my shame ! 
[Turns to Beauseant^ Enjoy that triumph, but not in my sight. I 
was her betrayer, I am her protector ! Cross but her path, one 
word of scorn, one look of insult, nay, but one quiver of that 
mocking lip, and I will teach thee that bitter word -thou hast 
graven eternally in this heart — Repentance ! 

Beau. His highness is most grandiloquent. 

Mel, Highness me no more ! Beware ! Remorse has made 
me a new being. Away with you ! There is danger in me. 
Away ! 

Gla. [Aside^ He's an awkward fellow to deal with : come 
away, Beauseant. 

'Beau. I know the respeft due to rank. Adieu, my prince. 
2* 



34 THE LADY OF LTONS. [act hi. 

Any commands at Lyons ? Yet hold, I promised you two hun- 
dred louis on your wedding-day ; here they are. 

AleL [_Dashing the purse to the ground^ I gave you revenge, I 
did not sell it. Take up your silver, Judas ; take it. Ay, it is 
fit you should learn to stoop. 

Beau, You will beg my pardon for this some day. \_J5ide to 
Glavis'] Come to my chateau, I shall return hither to-morrow to 
learn how Pauline likes her new dignity. 

A^eL Are you not gone yet ? 

Beau, Your highness' m^ost obedient, most faithful — 

G/a, And most humble servants. Ha ! ha ! 

[^Exeunt Beauseant and Glavis, 

Mel, Thank 'heaven I had no weapon, or I should have slain 
them. Wretch ! what can I say ? where turn ? On all sides 
mockery ; the very boors within — [^Laughter from the Inn] 
'Sdeath, if even in this short absence the exposure should have 
chanced. I will call her. We will go hence. I have already 
sent one I can trust to my mother's house. There, at least, none 
can insult her agony, gloat upon her shame ! There alone must 
she learn what a villain she has sv/orn to love. \_As he turns to 
the door — • 

Enter Pauline from the Inn, 

Pdu, Ah ! my lord, what a place ! I never saw such rude 
people. They stare and wink so. I think the very sight of a 
prince, though he travels incognito^ turns their honest heads. 
What a pity the carriage should break down in such a spot ! You 
are not well, the drops stand on your brow, your hand is feverish. 

Mel, Nay, it is but a passing spasm ; the air — 

Pau. Is not the soft air of your native south. 
How pale he is ! indeed thou art not vvell. 
Where are our people ? I will call them. 

Mel, Hold! 

I — I am well. 

Pau, Thou art ! — Ah ! now I know it. 

Thou fanciest, my kind lord, I know thou dost, 



SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 35 

Thou fanciest these rude walls, these rustic gossips, 

Brick'd floors, sour wine, coarse viands, vex Pauline ; 

And so they might, but thou art by my side, 

And I forget all else ! Nay, let it not 

Chafe thee, sweet prince ! A few short days, and we 

Shall see thy palace by its lake of silver. 

And — nay, nay, spendthrift, is thy wealth of smiles 

Already drain'd, or dost thou play the miser ? 

Mel, Thine eyes would call up smiles in deserts, fair one. 
Let us escape these rustics : close at hand 
There is a cot, where I have bid prepare 
Our evening lodgement ; a rude, homely roof. 
But honest, where our welcome will not be 
Made torture by the vulgar eyes and tongues 
That are as death to Love ! A heavenly night ! 
The wooing air and the soft moon invite us. 
Wilt walk ? I pray thee, now, — I know the path, 
Ay, every inch of it ! 

Fau. What, thou ! methought 

Thou wert a stranger in these parts. Ah, truant, 
Some village beauty lured thee ; thou art now 
Grown constant ? 

MeL Trust me. 

Fau, Princes are so changeful ! 

Mel, Come, dearest, come. 

Fau, Shall I not call our people 

To light us ? 

Mel, Heaven will lend its stars for torches ! 

It is not far. 

Fau, The night breeze chills me. 

Mel, Nay. 

Let me thus mantle thee ; it is not cold. 

Fau, Never beneath thy smile ! 

Mel, \_Jside'] O heaven ! forgive me ! 

[Exeunt, 



36 THE LADY OF LTONS. [act in. 

Scene II. Melnotte's cottage. A table spread for supper. 
Widow hustling about, 

Wid. So, I think that looks very neat. He sent me a Hne so 
blotted that I can scarcely read it, to say he would be here almost 
immediately. She must have loved him well indeed to have for- 
gotten his birth ; for though he was introduced to her in disguise, 
he is too honourable not to have revealed to her the artifice, which 
her love only could forgive. Well, I do not wonder at it ; for 
though my son is not a prince, he ought to be one, and that's 
almost as good. \KnQck at the door,'] Ah ! here they are. 

Enter Melnotte and Pauline. 

Wid, Oh, my boy, the pride of my heart ! welcome^ wel- 
come ! I beg pardon, ma'am, but I do love him so ! 

Pau, Good woman, I really — why, prince, what is this ? does 
the old lady know you ? Oh, I guess you have done her some 
service. Another proof of your kind heart ; is it not ? 

Mel, Of my kind heart, ay ! 

Pau, So, you know the prince ? 

Wid, Know him, madam ? Ah, I begin to fear it is you who 
know him not ! 

Pau, Do you think she is mad ? Gan we stay here, my lord ? 
I think there's something very wild about her. 

Mel, Madam, I — no, I cannot tell her ; my knees knock 
together : what a coward is a man who has lost his honour ! 
Speak to her, speak to her [To his mother'] tell her that — O 
heaven, that I were dead ! 

Pau, How confused he looks ! this strange place, this woman, 
what can it mean ? I half suspecS:. Who are you, madam ! who 
are you ? can't you speak ? are you struck dumb ? 

Wid, Claude, you have not deceived her ? Ah, shame upon 
you ! I thought that, before you went to the altar, she was to 
have known all? 

Pau, All ! what ? My blood freezes in my veins ! 



SCENE II.] THE LADY OF LTONS. 37 

TVid. Poor lady ! Dare I tell her, Claude ? \_Melnotte makes a 
sign of assent, '\ Know you not then, madam, that this young man 
is of poor though honest parents ? Know you not that you are 
wedded to my son, Claude Melnotte ? 

Pau. Your son ! hold ! hold ! do not speak to me. \_Jpproachts 
Melnotte and lays her hand on his armJ] Is this a jest ? is it ? I 
know it is ; only speak, one word, one look, one smile. I 
cannot believe, I, who loved thee so, I cannot believe that 
thou art such a — No, I will not wrong thee by a harsh word. 
Speak ! 

MeL Leave us ; have pity on her, on me : leave us. 

IVid. Oh, Claude ! that I should live to see the bowed by 
shame ! thee, of whom I was so proud ! \^Exit by the staircase. 

Pau, Her son ! her son ! 

MeL Now, lady, hear me. 

Pau, Hear thee ! 

Ay, speak. Her son ! have fiends a parent ? speak. 
That thou mayst silence curses. Speak ! 

Mel. No, curse me : 

Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness. 

Pau, [^Laughing wildly'] ' This is thy palace, where the per- 
fumed light 
Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps. 
And every air is heavy with the sighs 
Of orange-groves, and music from sweet lutes. 
And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth 
r the midst of roses !' Dost thou like the picture ? 
This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom. 

fool ! O dupe ! O wretch ! I see it all ; 
The by-word and the jeer of every tongue 

In Lyons ! Hast thou in thy heart one touch 
Of human kindness ? if thou hast, why, kill me. 
And save thy wife from madness. No, it cannot. 
It cannot be : this is some horrid dream : 

1 shall wake soon. [^Touching him] Art flesh? art man? or but 



38 THE LADY OF LTONS. [act hi. 

The shadows seen in sleep ? It is too real. 

What have I done to thee ? how sinn'd against thee, 

That thou shouldst crush me thus ? 

MeL Pauline, by pride 

Angels have fallen ere thy time : by pride, 
That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould. 
The evil spirit of a bitter love, 
And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. 
From my first years my soul was fill'd with thee : 
I saw thee midst the flow'rs the lowly boy 
Tended, unmark'd by thee, a spirit of bloom, 
And joy and freshness, as if Spring itself 
Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape ! 
I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man 
Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy. 
And from that hour I grew, what to the last 
I shall be, thine adorer ! Well ! this love. 
Vain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became 
A fountain of ambition and bright hope ; 
I thought of tales tliat by the winter hearth 
Old gossips tell, how maidens sprung from kings, 
Have stoop'd from their high sphere j how love, like death. 
Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook 
Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home 
In the soft palace of a fairy Future ! 
My father died ; and I, the peasant-born. 
Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise 
Out of the prison of my mean estate ; 
And, with such jewels as the exploring mind 
Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom 
From those twin gaolers of the daring heart. 
Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image 
Glass'd in my soul, took all the hues of glory, 
And lured me on to those inspiring toils 
By which man masters men ! For thee I grew 



SCENE II.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 39 

A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages : 
For thee I sought to borrow from each grace, 
And every muse, such attributes as lend 
Ideal charms to love. I thought of thee, 
And passion taught me poesy, of thee. 
And on the painter's canvas grew the Hfe 
Of beauty ! >^Art became the shadow 
Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes ! 
Men call'd me vain, some mad, I heeded not. 
But still toil'd on, hoped on, for it was sweet, 
If not to win, to feel more worthy thee ! 

Pau, \_Jside~\ Has he a magic to exorcise hate ? 

MeL At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour 
The thoughts that burst their channels into song. 
And sent them to thee, such a tribute, lady. 
As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. 
The name, appended by the burning heart 
That long'd to show its idol what bright things 
It had created ; yea, the enthusiast's name. 
That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn ! 
That very hour, when passion, turned to wrath, 
Resembled hatred most ; when thy disdain 
Made my whole soul a chaos ; in that hour 
The tempters found me a revengeful tool 
For their revenge ! Thou hadst trampled on the worm, 
It turn'd and stung thee ! 

Pau. Love, sir, hath no sting. 

What was the slight of a poor powerless girl 
To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge ? 
Oh, how I loved this man ! a serf! a slave ! 

MeL Hold, lady ! No, not slave ! Despair is free ! 
I will not tell thee of the throes, the struggles. 
The anguish, the remorse : No, let it pass ! 
And let me come to such most poor atonement 



40 THE LADY OF LYONS. [act hi. 

Yet in my power. Pauline ! — \_Approaching her with great e?no- 

t'lon^ and about to take her hand. 

Pau. No, touch me not ! 

I know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant ; 
And I, O heaven ! a peasant's wife ! I'll work, 
Toil, drudge, do what thou wilt \ but touch me not : 
Let my wrongs make me sacred ! 

MeL Do not fear me. 

Thou dost not know me, madam : at the altar 
My vengeance ceased, my guilty oath expired ! 
Henceforth, no image of some marble saint, 
Niched in cathedral aisles, is hallow'd more 
From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong. 
I am thy husband ; nay, thou need'st not shudder : 
Here, at thy feet, I lay a husband's rights. 
A marriage thus unholy, unfulfiU'd, 
A bond of fraud, is, by the laws of France, 
Made void and null. To-night, sleep, sleep in peace. 
To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn 
I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the shrine, 
Thy father's arms shall take thee to thy home. 
The law shall do thee justice, and restore 
Thy right to bless another with thy love. 
And when thou art happy, and hast half forgot 
Him who so loved, so wrong'd thee, think at least 
Heaven left some remnant of the angel still 
In that poor peasant's nature ! Ho ! my mother ! 

Enter Widow. 

Condu6l this lady — she is not my wife ; 

She is our guest, our honour'd guest, my mother — 

To the poor chamber where the sleep of virtue 

Never beneath my father's honest roof. 

E'en villains dared to mar ! Now, lady, now, 

I think thou wilt believe me. Go, my mother. 



SCENE Ti.] THE LADY OF LTONS. 41 

JVid, She js not thy wife ! 

MeL Hush ! hush ! for mercy sake ! 

Speak not, but go. [^IVidow ascends the stairs ; Pauline follows 

weeping — turns to look back. 
MeL [_Sinking down~\ All angels bless and guard her ! 

[^The curtain Jails, 



ACT IV. 

Scene I. The Cottage as before. Day breaking. 
Melnotte seated before a table — writing implements^ l^c. 

MeL Hush, hush ! she sleeps at last ! thank heaven, for 
a while she forgets even that I live ! Her sobs, which have gone 
to my heart the whole, long desolate night, have ceased ! all 
calm, all still ! I will go now ; I will send this letter to Pauline's 
father : when he arrives, I will place in his hands my own con- 
sent to the divorce, and then, O France ! my country ! accept 
among thy protestors, thy defenders, the Peasant's Son ! Our 
country is less proud than custom, and does not refuse the blood, 
the heart, the right hand of the poor man ! 

Enter Widow. 

Wid. My son, thou hast afted ill ; but sin brings its own pun- 
ishment. In the hour of thy remorse, it is not for a mother to 
reproach thee. 

MeL What is past is past. There is a future left to all men, 
who have the virtue to repent, and the energy to atone. Thou 
shalt be proud of thy son yet. Meanwhile, remember this poor 
lady has been grievously injured. For the sake of thy son's con- 
science, respe6t, honour, bear with her. If she weep, console ; 
if she chide, be silent. 'Tis but a little while more ; I shall 
send an express fast as horse can speed to her father. Fare- 
well ! I shall return shortly. 

Wid. It is the only course left to thee ; thou wert led astray, 



42 THE LADY OF LTONS. [act iv. 

but thou art not hardened. Thy heart is right still, as ever it 
was, when, in thy most ambitious hopes, thou wert never ashamed 
of thy poor mother. 

Mel. Ashamed of thee ! No, if I yet endure, yet live, yet 
hope, it is only because I would not die till I have redeemed the 
noble heritage I have lost, the heritage I took unstained from thee 
and my dead father, a proud conscience and an honest name. I 
shall win them back yet. Heaven bless you. \^Exit. 

Wtd, My dear Claude ! How my heart bleeds for him ! 

Pauline looks down from -above ^ and after a pause descends, 

Pau, Not here ! he spares me that pain at least : so far he is 
considerate, yet the place seems still more desolate without him. 
Oh, that I could hate him ; the gardener's son ! and yet how 
nobly he — no, no, no, I will not be so mean a thing as to forgive 
him ! 

Wid. Good morning, madam ; I would have waited on you 
if I had known you were stirring. 

Pau, It is no matter, ma'am ; your son's wife ought to wait on 
herself. 

Wid, My son's wife ! let not that thought vex you, madam ; 
he tells me that you will have your divorce. And I hope I 
shall live to see him smile again. There are maidens in this vil- 
lage, young and fair, madam, who may yet console him. 

Pau, I dare say, they are very welcome \ and when the 
divorce is got, he will marry again. I am sure I hope so. \_Weeps, 

Wid, He could have married the richest girl in the province, 
if he had pleased it \ but his head was turned, poor child ! he 
could think of nothing but you. \lVeeps. 

Pau. Don't weep, mother I 

TVid. Ah, he has behaved very ill, I know, but love is so 
headstrong in the young. Don't weep, madam. 

Pau, So, as you was saying ; go on. 

Wid, Oh, I cannot excuse him, ma'am ; he was not in his 
right senses. 



SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LTONS. 43 

Pan, But he always — always — [^Sobbing] loved — loved me then ? 

TFid, He thought of nothing else. See here, he learnt to 
paint that he might take your likeness. \_Uncovers the piSiure,^ 
But that's all over now ; I trust you have cured him of his folly. 
But, dear heart you have had no breakfast. 

Pau, I can't take anything, don't trouble yourself. 

TVid. Nay, madam, be persuaded ; a little coffee will refresh 
you. Our milk and eggs are excellent. I will get out Claude's 
cofFee-cup, it is of real Sevres ; he saved up all his money to buy 
it three years ago, because the name of Pauline was inscribed 
on it. 

Pau, Three years ago ! Poor Claude J Thank you ; I think 
I will have some coffee. Oh, if he were but a poor gentleman, 
even a merchant : but a gardener's son ! and what a home ! Oh 
no, it is too dreadful. [ They seat themselves at the table ^ Beauseant 

opens the lattice and looks in. 

Beau, So, so, the coast is clear ! I saw Claude in the lane ; I 
shall have an excellent opportunity. 

\Shuts the lattice and knocks at the door, 

Pau, \Starting\ Can it be my father ? Fie has not sent for 
him yet ? No, he cannot be in such a hurry to get rid of me. 

Wid, It is not time for your father to arrive yet ; it must be 
some neighbour. 

Pau, Don't admit any one. \Widow opens the door. 

Beauseant pushes her aside and enters. 

Ha ! heavens ! that hateful Beauseant ! This is indeed bitter. 

Beau, Good morning, madam ! O widow, your son begs 
you will have the goodness to go to him in the village, he wants 
to speak to you on particular business ; you will find him at the 
inn, or the grocer's shop, or the baker's, or at some other friend's 
of your family, make haste ! 

Pau, Don't leave me, mother ! don't leave me ! 

Beau, \JVith great respe^f\ Be not alarmed, madam. Believe 
me your friend, your servant. 



44 THE LADY OF LYONS. [act iv. 

Pau, Sir, I have no fear of you, even in this house ! Go, 
madam, if your son wishes it ; I will not contradi£l his commands 
whilst at least he has still the right to be obeyed. 

Wid. I don't understand this ; however, I shan't be long gone. 

[^Ex'it. 

Pau, Sir, I divine the objeft of your visit, you wish to exult in 
the humiliation of one who humbled you. Be it so ; I am pre- 
pared to endure all, even your presence ! 

Beau. You mistake me, madam, Pauline, you mistake me ! I 
come to lay my fortune at your feet. You must a,lready be dis- 
enchanted with this impostor ; these walls are not worthy to be 
hallowed by your beauty ! Shall that form be clasped in the arms 
of a base-born peasant ? Beloved, beautiful Pauline ! fly with 
me, my carriage waits without, I will bear you to a home more 
meet for your reception. Wealth, luxury, station, all shall yet be 
yours. I forget your past disdain, I remember only your beauty 
and my unconquerable love ! 

Pau. Sir ! leave this house ; it is humble : but a husband's roof, 
however lowly, is, in the eyes of God and man, the temple of a 
wife's honour ! Know that I would rather starve, yes, with him 
who has betrayed me, than accept your lawful hand, even were 
you the prince whose name he bore ! Go ! 

Beau. What, is not your pride humbled yet ? 

Pau. Sir, what was pride in prosperity, in afflicSlion becomes virtue. 

Beau. Look round : these rugged floors, these homely walls, 
this wretched struggle of poverty for comfort, think of this ! and 
contrast with such a picture the refinement, the luxury, the pomp, 
that the wealthiest gentleman of Lyons ofl^ers to the loveliest 
lady. Ah, hear me ! 

Pau. Oh ! my father ! why did I leave you ? why am I thus 
friendless ? Sir, you see before you a betrayed, injured, miserable 
woman ! respe£t her anguish ! 

Melnotte opens the door silently and pauses at the threshold. 
Beau. No ! let me rather thus console it ; let me snatch froi 



SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 45 

those lips one breath of that fragrance which never should be 
wasted on the low churl thy husband. 

Pau. Help ! Claude ! Claude ! Have I no prote6tor ? 

Beau. Be silent ! [_Showlng a pistor\ See, I do not come un- 
prepared even for violence. I will brave all things, thy husband 
and all his race, for thy sake. Thus, then, I clasp thee ' 

Mel. [^Dashing him to the other end of the stage'] Pauline, look 
up, Pauline ! thou art safe. 

Beau. \_Levelling his pistol^ Dare you thus insult a man of my 
birth, ruffian ? 

Pau. Oh, spare him, &pare my husband ! Beauseant — Claude 
— no — no — [^Faints. 

Mel. Miserable trickster! shame upon you ! brave devices to 
terrify a woman ! Coward, you tremble, you have outraged the 
laws, you know that your weapon is harmless, you have the cour- 
age of the mountebank, not the bravo ! Pauline, there is no danger. 

Beau. I wish thou wert a gentleman, as it is, thou art beneath 
me. Good day, and a happy honey-moon. \^Astde^ I will not 
die till I am avenged. \^Exit. 

Mel. I hold her in these arms, the last embrace ! 
Never, ah never more, shall this dear head 
Be pillow'd on the heart that should have shelter'd 
And has betray'd ! Soft, soft ! one kiss, poor wretch ! 
No scorn on that pale lip forbids me now ! 
One kiss, so ends all record of my crime ! 
It is the seal upon the tomb of hope. 
By which, like some lost, sorrowing angel, sits 
Sad memory evermore : she breathes, she moves. 
She wakes to scorn, to hate, but not to shudder 
Beneath the touch of my abhorred love. [^Places her on a seat. 

There, we are strangers now ! 

Pau. All gone, all calm. 

Is every thing a dream ? thou art safe, unhurt : 
I do not love thee ; but — but I am a woman. 
And — and — no blood is spilt ? 



46 THE LADY OF LYONS, [act iv. 

Mel, No, lady, no ; 

My guilt has not deserved so rich a blessing 
As even danger in thy cause. 

Re-enter Widow. 

TVid, My son, I have been everywhere in search of you ; why 
did you send for me ? 

Mel, I did not send for you. 

Wid. No ! but I must tell you your express has returned. 

Mel, So soon ! impossible ! 

Wid, Yes, he met the lady's father and mother on the road ; 
they were going into the country on a visit. Your messenger 
says that Monsieur Deschappelles turned almost white with anger 
when he read your letter. They will be here almost immediately. 
Oh, Claude, Claude ! what will they do to you ? How I trem- 
ble ! Ah, madam ! do not let them injure him ; if you knew 
how he doated on you ! 

Pau, Injure him ! no ma'am, be not afraid ; my father ! how 
shall I meet him ? how go back to Lyons ? the scoff of the whole 
city ! Cruel, cruel, Claude ! [^In great agitation~\ Sir, you have 
adied most treacherously. 

Mel, I know it, madam. 

Pau, \_Aside'] If he would but ask me to forgive him ! \^Aloud^ 
I never can forgive you, sir. 

Mel. I never dared to hope it. 

Pau, But you are my husband now, and I have sworn to — to 
love you, sir. 

Mel, That was under a false belief, madam ; heaven and the 
laws will release you from your vow. 

Pau, He will drive me mad ! if he were but less proud, if he 
would but ask me to remain — hark, hark ! I hear the wheels of 
the carriage ; Sir — Claude, they are coming ; have you no word 
to say ere it is too late ? quick, speak ! 

Mel, I can only congratulate you on your release. Behold 
your parents ! 



SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 47 

Enter Monsieur and Madame Deschappelles and Colonel 

Damas. 

M, Des, My child ! my child ! 

Mme, D, Oh, my poor Pauline ! what a villainous hovel this is ! 
Old woman, get me a chair, I shall faint, I certainly shall. What 
will the world say ? Child, you have been a fool. A mother's 
heart is easily broken. 

Dam. Ha, ha ! most noble prince, I am sorry to see a man of 
your quality in such a condition ; I am afraid your highness will 
go'to the House of Correftion. 

MeL Taunt on, sir ; I spared you when you were unarmed, I 
am unarmed now. A man who has no excuse for crime is indeed 
defenceless ! 

Dam. There's something fine in the rascal, after all ! 

M. Des. Where is the impostor ? Are you thus shameless, 
traitor ? Can you brave the presence of that girl's father ? 

Mel. Strike me, if it please you, you are her father ! 

Pau. Sir, sir, for my sake ; whatever his guilt, he has afted 
nobly in atonement. 

Mme. D. Nobly ! Are you mad girl ? I have no patience 
with you, to disgrace all your family thus ! Nobly ! Oh you 
abominable, hardened, pitiful, mean, ugly villain ! 

Dam. Ugly ! Why he was beautiful yesterday. 

Pau. Madam, this is his roof, and he is my husband. Respefi: 
your daughter, and let blame fall alone on her. 

Mme. D. You — you — Oh, I'm choking. 

M. Des. Sir, it were idle to waste reproach upon a conscience 
like yours, you renounce all pretensions to the person of this lady ? 

MeL I do, \_Gives a pciper^ Here is my consent to a divorce, 
my full confession of the fraud, which annuls marriage. Your 
daughter has been foully wronged, I grant it, sir ; but her own 
lips will tell you that, from the hour in which she crossed this 
threshold, I returned to my own station, and respeded hers. 
Pure and inviolate, as when yestermorn you laid your hand upon 



48 THE LADY OF LTONS. [act iv. 

her head and blessed her, I yield her back to you. For myself, I 
deliver you for ever from my presence. An outcast and a crim- 
inal, I seek some distant land, where I may mourn my sin, and 
pray for your daughter's peace. Farewell, farewell to you all 
for ever ! 

JVid. Claude, Claude, you will not leave your poor mother ? 
She does not disown you in your sorrow, no, not even in your 
guilt. No divorce can separate a mother from her son. 

Pau. This poor widow teaches me my duty. No, mother, no, 
for you are now my mother also ! nor should any law, human or 
divine, separate the wife from her husband's sorrows. Claiide, 
Claude, all is forgotten, forgiven, I am thine for ever ! 

Mme, D, What do I hear ? Come away, or never see my 
face again. 

M. Des, Pauline, we never betrayed you! do you forsake us 
for him? 

Pau. \_Going hack to her father] Oh no ! but you will forgive 
him, too ; we will live together — he shall be your son. 

M. Des, Never ! Cling to him and forsake your parents ! 
His home shall be yours, his fortune yours, his fate yours: the 
wealth I have acquired by honest industry shall never enrich the 
dishonest man. 

Pau. And you would have a wife enjoy luxury while a husband 
toils ! Claude, take me ; thou canst not give me wealth, titles, 
station, but thou canst give me a true heart. I will work for 
thee, tend thee, bear with thee, and never, never shall these lips 
reproach thee for the past. 

Dam, I'll be hanged if I am not going to blubber ! 

Mel. This is the heaviest blow of all ! What a heart I have 
wronged ! Do not fear me, sir 3 I am not all hardened ; I 
will not rob her of a holier love than mine. Pauline ! angel of 
love and mercy ! your memory shall lead me back to virtue ! 
The husband of a being so beautiful in her noble and sublime 
tenderness may be poor, may be low-born, — there is no guilt in 
the decrees of Providence ! — but he should be one who can look 



SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 49 

thee in the face without a blush, to whom thy love does not bring 
remorse, who can fold thee to his heart and say, ' Here there is 
no deceit !' — I am not that man ! 

Dam. [Jside to Melnotte'\ Thou art a noble fellow, notwith- 
standing, and wouldst make an excellent soldier. Serve in my 
regiment. I have had a letter from the Direftory, our young 
general takes the command of the army in Italy ; I am to join 
him at Marseilles, I will depart this day if 'thou wilt go with 
me, 

Mel. It is the favour I would have asked thee, if I dared. 
Place me wherever a foe is most dreaded, wherever France most 
needs a life ! 

Dam. There shall not be forlorn hope without thee ! 

Mel. There is my hand ! Mother ! your blessing ; I shall see 
you again, a better man than a prince, a man who has bought the 
right to high thoughts by brave deeds. And thou ! thou ! so 
wildly worshipped, so guiltily betrayed, all is not yet lost ! for thy 
memory, at least, must be mine till death ! If I live, the name 
of him thou hast once loved shall not rest dishonoured ; if I fall, 
amidst the carnage and the ro^r of battle, my soul will fly back to 
thee, and Love shall share with Death my last sigh ! More, 
more would I speak to thee ! to pray ! to bless ! But no ! when 
I am less unworthy I will utter it to heaven ! I cannot trust 
myself to— [Turning to Deschappellei] Your pardon, sir; they 
are my last words. Farewell ! [ The curtain falls. 

ACT V. 

^iTiuo yean and a half from the date of Aa IV. 1 

Scene I. The streets of Lyons, 

Enter First, Second, and Third OiBcers. 

First Of. Well, here we are at Lyons, with gallant old Da- 
mas : it is his native place. 

3 



50 THE LADY OF LYONS. [act v. 

Sec. Off. Yes ; he has gained a step in the army since he was 
here last. The Lyonnese ought to be very proud of stout Gen- 
eral Damas. 

Third Off. Promotion is quick in the French army. This 
mysterious Morier, the hero of Lodi, and the favourite of the 
commander-in-chief, has risen to a colonel's rank in two years 
and a half. 

Enter Damas, as a General. 

Dam. Good morrow, gentlemen ; I hope you will amuse your- 
selves during our short stay at Lyons. It is a fine city: improved 
since I left it. Ah ! it is a pleasure to grow old, when the years 
that bring decay to ourselves do but ripen the prosperity of our 
countrv. You have not met with Morier ? 

First Off. No : we were just speaking of him. 

Sec. Off. Pray, general, can you tell us who this Morier really 
is? 

Da}n, Is ? whv a colonel in the French army. 

Third Off. True. But what was he at first ? 

Dam. At first ? Why a baby in long clothes, I suppose. 

First Off. Ha, ha ! Ever facetious, general. 

Sec. Off. \_To Third] The general is sore upon this point 5 you 
will only chafe him. Any commands, general ? ^fi 

Da?n. None. Good day to you ! ^ 

\_Exeunt Second and Third Officers. 

Dam. Our comrades are very inquisitive. Poor Morier is the 
subjeft of a vast deal of curiosity. 

First Off. Say interest, rather, general. His constant melan- 
choly, the loneliness of his habits, his daring valour, his brilliant 
rise in the profession, your friendship, and the favours of the com- 
mander-in-chief, all tend to make him as much the matter of 
gossip as of admiration. But where is he, general ? I have 
missed him all the morning. 

Dam. Why, captain, I'll let you into a secret. My young 
friend has come with me to Lyons in hopes of finding a miracle. 

First Off. A miracle ! 



SCENE I.] THE LADT OF LTONS. 51 

Dam. Yes, a miracle ! in other words, a constant woman. 

First Off. Oh ! an affair of love ! 

Dam. Exa£lly so. No sooner did he enter Lyons than he 
waved his hand to me, threw himself from his horse, and is 
now, I warrant, asking every one who can know anything 
about the matter, whether a certain lady is still true to a certain 
gentleman ! 

First Off. Success to him ! and of that success there can be no 
doubt. The gallant Colonel Morier, the hero of Lodi, might 
make his choice out of the proudest families in France. 

Dam. Oh, if pride be a recommendation, the lady and her 
mother are most handsomely endowed. By the way, captain, if 
you should chance to meet with Morier, tell him he will find me 
at the hotel. 

First Off. I will, general. [^Exit. 

Dam. Now will I go to the Deschappelles, and make a report 
to my young colonel. Ha ! by Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, Viro- 
rum, here comes Monsieur Beauseant. 

Enter Beauseant. 

Good morrow. Monsieur Beauseant ! How fares it with you ? 

Beau. \_Jside'] Damas ! that is unfortunate ; if the Italian cam- 
paign should have filled his pockets, he may seek to baflle me 
in the moment of my victory. [^J/oucr\' Y our servant, general, 
for such, I think, is your new distindlion ! Just arrived in 
Lyons ? 

Dam. Not an hour ago. Well, how go on the Deschappelles ? 
Have they forgiven you in that affair of young Melnotte ? You 
had some hand in that notable device, eh ? 

Beau, Why, less than you think for ! The fellow imposed 
upon me. I have set it all right now. What has become of 
him ? He could not have joined the army, after all. There is 
no such name in the books. 

Dam, I know nothing about Melnotte. As you say, I never 
heard the name in the Grand Armv. 



52 THE LADY OF LrONS. [act v. 

Beau. Hem ! You are not married, general ? 

Dam. Do I look like a married man, sir ? No, thank heaven ! 
My profession is to make widows, not wives. 

Beau. You must have gained much booty in Italy ! Pauline 
will be your heiress, eh ? 

Dam. Booty ! Not I ! Heiress to what ? Two trunks and 
a portmanteau, four horses, three swords, two suits of regiment- 
als, and six pair of white leather inexpressibles ! A pretty for- 
tune for a young lady ! 

Beau. \_Jside] Then all is safe ! {^Jloud^ Ha ! ha ! Is that 
really all your capital. General Damas? Why, I thought Italy 
had been a second Mexico to you soldiers. 

Dam. All a toss-up, sir. I was not one of the lucky ones ! 
My friend Morier, indeed, saved something handsome. But our 
commander-in-chief took care of him, and Morier is a thrifty, 
economical dog, not like the rest of us soldiers, who spend our 
money as carelessly as if it were our blood. 

Beau. Well, it is no matter ! I do not want fortune with 
Pauline. And you must know. General Damas, that your fair 
cousin has at length consented to reward my long and ardent 
attachment. 

Dam. You ! the devil ! Why, she is already married. There 
is no divorce. 

Beau. True ; but this very day she is formally to authorize the 
necessary proceedings, this very day she is to sign the contradl 
that is to make her mine within one week from the day on which 
her present illegal marriage is annulled. 

Dam. You tell me wonders ! Wonders ! No \ I believe 
anything of women ! 

Beau. I must wish you good morning. \^Js he is going 

Enter Deschappelles. 

M. Des. Oh, Beauseant ! well met. Let us come to the 

notary at once. [_Going. 

Dam. \To Deschappellef] Why, cousin ? [^Exit Beauseant. 



SCENE I.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 53 

M, Des, Damas, welcome to Lyons. Pray call on us ; my 
wife will be delighted to see you. 

Dam, Your wife be ^ blessed for her condescension ! But 

[Taking him aside^ what do I hear ? Is it possible that your 
daughter has consented to a divorce ? that she will marry Mon- 
sieur Beauseant ? 

M, Des, Certainly ! What have you to say against it ? A 
gentleman of birth, fortune characSler. We are not so proud 
as we were ; even my wife has had enough of nobility and 
princes ! 

Dam, But Pauline loved that young man so tenderly. 

M, Des, [Taking snuff ^ That was two years and a half ago. 

Dam, Very true. Poor Melnotte ! 

M, Des, But do not talk of that impostor ; I hope he is dead 
or has left the country. Nay, even were he in Lyons at this mo- 
ment, he ought to rejoice that, in an honourable and suitable alli- 
ance, my daughter may forget her suffering and his crime. 

Dam, Nay, if it be all settled I have no more to say. Mon- 
sieur Beauseant informs me that the contra6t is to be signed this 
very day. 

M, Des, It is ; at one o'clock precisely. Will you be one of 
the witnesses ? 

Dam, I ? No ; that is to say, yes, certainly ! at one o'clock I 
will wait on you. 

M, Des, Till then, adieu. [Exit. 

Dam, The man who sets his heart upon a woman 
Is a chameleon, and doth feed on air ; 
From air he takes his colours, holds his life, 
Changes with every wind, grows lean or fat. 
Rosy with hope, or green with jealousy. 
Or pallid with despair, just as the gale 
Varies from north to south, from heat to cold ! 
Oh, woman ! woman ! thou shouldst have few sins 
Of thine own to answer for ! Thou art the author 
Of such a book of follies in a man. 



54 THE LADY OF LTONS. [act v. 

That it would need the tears of all the angels 
To blot the record out ! 

Enter Melnotte, pale and agitated, 

I need not tell thee ! Thou hast heard — 

Mel The worst ! 

I have ! 

Dam, Be cheer'd ; others are fair as she is ! 

MeL Others ! The world is crumbled at my feet ! 
She was my world ; fill'd up the whole of being, 
Smiled in the sunshine, walk'd the glorious earth, 
Sate in my heart, was the sweet life of life : 
The Past was hers \ I dreamt not of a Future 
That did not wear her shape ! Mem'ry and Hope 
Alike are gone. Pauline is faithless ! Henceforth 
The universal space is desolate ! 

Dam, Hope yet. 

MeL Hope ? yes ! one hope is left me still, 

A soldier's grave ! Glory has died with love. 
I look into my heart, and, where I saw 
Pauline, see Death ! 

\Jfter a pause7\ But am I not deceived ? 
I went but by the rumour of the town ; 
Rumour is false, — I was too hasty ! Damas, 
Whom hast thou seen ? 

Dam, Thy rival and her father. 

Arm thyself for the truth ! He heeds not — 

Mel, She 

Will never know how deeply she was loved ! 
The charitable night, that wont to bring 
Comfort to-day, in bright and eloquent dreams. 
Is henceforth leagued with misery ! Sleep, farewell, 
Or else become eternal ! Oh, the waking 
From false oblivion, to see the sun. 
And know she is another's ! 



SCENE I.] THE LADT OF LTONS. 55 

Dam, Be a man ! 

Mel, I am a man ! it is the sting of woe 
Like mine that tells us we are men ! 

Dam. The false one 

Did not deserve thee. 

Mel, Hush ! No word against her ! 

Why should she keep, through years and silent absence, 
The holy tablets of her virgin faith 
True to a traitor's name? Oh, blame her not ; 
It were a sharper grief to think her worthless 
Than to be what I am ! To-day, to-day ! 
They said ' to-day !' This day, so wildly welcomed, 
This day, my soul had singled out of time 
And mark'd for bliss ! This day ! oh, could I see her, 
See her once more unknown ; hear but her voice. 
So that one echo of its music might 
Make ruin less appalling in its silence ! 

Dam, Easily done ! Come with me to her house ; 
Your dress, your cloak, moustache, the bronzed hues 
Of time and toil, the name you bear, belief 
In your absence, all will ward away suspicion. 
Keep in the shade. Ay, I would have you come. 
There may be hope ! Pauhne is yet so young. 
They may have forced her to these second bridals 
Out of mistaken love. 

Mel, No, bid me hope not ! 

Bid me not hope ! I could not bear again 
To fall from such a heaven ! One gleam of sunshine, 
And the ice breaks, and I am lost ! Oh, Damas, 
There's no such thing as courage in a man ; 
The veriest slave that ever crawl'd from danger 
Might spurn me now. When first I lost her, Damas, 
I bore it, did I not ? I still had hope. 
And now I — I — \_Bursts into an agony of grief. 

Dam, What, comrade ! all the women 



56 THE LADY OF LYONS, [act " 

That ever smiled destru£tion on brave hearts 
Were not worth tears like these ! 

MeL 'Tis past, forget it. 

I am prepared ; life has no farther ills ! 
The cloud has broken in that stormy rain, 
And on the waste I stand, alone with heaven ! 

Dam, His very face is changed ; a breaking heart 
Does its work soon ! Come, Melnotte, rouse thyself: 
One effort more. Again thou'lt see her. 

MeL See her ! 

There is a passion in that simple sentence 
That shivers all the pride and power of reason 
Into a chaos ! 

Dam, Time wanes ; come, ere yet 

It be too late. 

Mel, Terrible words. ' Too late!'* 

Lead on. One last look more, and then — 

Dam, Forget her ! 

Mel, Forget her, yes ! For death remembers not. \Exeunt, 

Scene II. A room in the house of Monsieur Deschappelles, 
Pauline seated in great dejection, 

Pau, It is so, then. I must be false to love. 
Or sacrifice a father ! Oh, my Claude, 
My lover and my husband ! have I lived 
To pray that thou mayst find some fairer boon 
Than the deep faith of this devoted heart, 
Nourish'd till now, now broken ! 

Enter Deschappelles. 

M, Des, My dear child, 

How shall I thank, how bless thee r Thou hast saved, 
I will not say my fortune, I could bear 
Reverse, and shrink not, but that prouder wealth 



SCENE II.] THE LADY OF LYONS. 57 

Which merchants value most, my name, my credit, 
The hard-won honours of a toilsome life : 
These thou hast saved, my child ! 

Pau. Is there no hope ? 

No hope but this ? 

M, Des, None. If, v^ithout the sum 

Which Beauseant offers for thy hand, this day 
Sinks to the west, to-morrow brings our ruin ! 
And hundreds, mingled in that ruin, curse 
The bankrupt merchant ! and the insolent herd 
We feasted and made merry, cry in scorn, 
' How pride has fallen ! Lo, the bankrupt merchant !* 
My daughter, thou hast saved us ! 

Pau, And am lost ! 

M, Des, Come, let me hope that Beauseant's love — 

Pau, His love! 

Talk not of love. Love has no thought of self ! 
Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold 
The loathsome prostitution of a hand 
Without a heart ! Love sacrifices all things. 
To bless the thing it loves ! He knows not love. 
Father, his love is hate, his hope revenge ! 
My tears, my anguish, my remorse for falsehood. 
These are the joys he wrings from our despair ! 

M, Des, If thou deem'st thus, reje6t him ! Shame and ruin 
Were better than thy misery ; think no more on't. 
My sand is well-nigh run, what boots it when 
The glass is broken ? We'll annul the contract ; 
And if to-morrow in the prisoner's cell 
These aged limbs are laid, why still, my child, 
I'll think thou art spared ; and wait the liberal hour 
That lays the beggar by the side of kings ! 

Pau. No ! no ! forgive me ! You, my honour'd father, 
You, who so loved, so cherish'd me, whose lips 
Never knew one harsh word ! I'm no: ungrateful j 




58 THE LADY OF LYONS. 

I am but human! hush ! Now^ call the bridegroom, 
You see I am prepared, no tears, all calm ; 
But, father, talk no more of love ! 

M, Des, My child, 

'Tis but one struggle ; he is young, rich, noble ; 
Thy state will rank first 'mid the dames of Lyons ; 
And when this heart can shelter thee no more, 
Thv youth will not be guardianless. 

Pau, I have set 

My foot upon the ploughshare, I will pass 
The fiery ordeal. [^Jside~\ Merciful heaven, support me ! 
And on the absent wanderer shed the light 
Of happier stars, lost ever more to me ! 

Enter Madame Deschappelles, Beauseant, Glavis and 

Notary. 

Mme, D, Why, Pauline, you are quite in deshabille^ you ought 
to be more alive to the importance of this joyful occasion. We 
had once looked higher, it is true ; but, you see, after all. Mon- 
sieur Beauseant's father was a marquess, and that's a great com- 
fort ! Pedigree and jointure ! you have them both in Monsieur 
Beauseant. A young lady decorously brought up should only 
have two considerations in her choice of a husband : first, is his 
birth honourable ? secondly, will his death be advantageous ? 
All other trifling details should be left to parental anxietv. 

Beau, \_Approaching and waving aside Madaine^ Ah Pauline ! 
let me hope that you are reconciled to an event which confers 
such rapture upon me. 

Pau, I am reconciled to my doom. 

Beau, Doom is a harsh word, sweet lady. 

Pau, \_Aside~\ This man must have some mercy, his heart can- 
not be marble. \_Aloud'\ Oh, sir, be just, be generous ! Seize a 
noble triumph, a great revenge ! Save the father, and spare the child ! 

Beau. [^Jside^ Jov, joy alike to my hatred and my passion ! 
The haughty Pauline is at last my suppliant. [_v^loud] You ask 



SCENE II.] THE LADT OF LTONS. 59 

from me what I have not the sublime virtue to grant, a virtue 
reserved only for the gardener's son ! I cannot forego my hopes 
in the moment of their fulfilment ! I adhere to the contract, 
your father's ruin, or your hand ! 

Pau. Then all is over. Sir, I have decided. 

\_The clock strikes one. 

Enter Damas and Melnotte. 

Dam, Your servant, cousin Deschappelles. Let me introduce 
Colonel Morier. 

Mme, D, \Curtseying very low\ What, the celebrated hero? 
This is, indeed, an honour. 

\_Melnotte bows^ and remains in the background. 

Dam. [To Pauline^ My little cousin, I congratulate you ! 
What, no smile, no blush ? You are going to be divorced from 
poor Melnotte, and marry this rich gentleman. You ought to be 
excessively happy ! 

Pau, Happy ! 

Dam, Why, how pale you are, child ! Poor Pauline ! Hist, 
confide in me ! Do they force you to this ? 

Pau, No ! 

Dam, You a£l with your own free consent ? 

Pau, My own consent, yes. 

Dam, Then you are the most — I will not say what you are. 

Pau, You think ill of me, be it so, yet if you knew all — 

Dam. There is some mystery, speak out, Pauline. 

Pau, [^SuddenlyJi Oh, perhaps you can save me ! you are our 
relation, our friend. My father is on the verge of bankruptcy, 
this day he requires a large sum to meet demands that cannot be 
denied ; that sum Beauseant will advance, this hand the condition 
of the barter. Save me if you have the means, save me ! You 
will be repaid above ! 

Dam. [^Aside'] I recant ; women are not so bad after all ! 
\^Aloud~\ Hum, child ! I cannot help you, I am too poor. 

Pau. The last plank to which I clung is shivered. 



6o THE LADY OF LYONS. [act v. 

Dam. Hold, you see my friend Morier : Melnotte is his most 
intimate friend, fought in the same fields — slept in the same tent. 
Have you any message to send to Melnotte ? any word to soften 
this blow ? 

Pau. He knows Melnotte, he will see him, he will bear to him 
my last farewell. \_Approaches Melnotte\ He has a stern air, he 
turns away from me — he despises me ! Sir, one word I beseech you. 

Mel. Her voice again ! How the old time comes o'er me ! 

Dam. \To Madame\ Don't interrupt them. He is going to 
tell her what a rascal young Melnotte is ; he knows him well, I 
promise you. 

Mme, D. So considerate in you, cousin Damas ! 

\Damas approaches Deschappelles ; converses apart with 
him in dumb show. Deschappelles shows him a paper .^ 
which he inspeSls^ and takes. 

Pau. Thrice have I sought to speak ; my courage fails me. 
Sir, is it true that you have known — nay, are you 
The friend of, Melnotte ? 

Mel. Lady, yes ! Myself 

And Misery know the man ! 

Pau. And you will see him, 

And you will bear to him, ay, word for word. 
All that this heart, which breaks in parting from him, 
Would send, ere still for ever. 

Mel. He hath told me 

You have the right to choose from out the world 
A worthier bridegroom ; he foregoes all claim. 
Even to murmur at his doom. Speak on ! 

Pau. Tell him, for years I never nursed a thought 
That was not his ; that, on his wandering way. 
Daily and nightly, pour'd a mourner's prayers. 
Tell him ev'n now that I would rather share 
His lowliest lot, walk by his side, an outcast, • 
Work for him, beg with him, live upon the light 
Of one kind smile from him, than wear the crown 



SCENE II.] THE LADY OF LTONS, 61 

The Bourbon lost! 

MeL [Aside] Am I already mad ? 

And does delirium utter such sweet words 
Into a dreamer's ear ? [Aloud] You love him thus, 
And yet desert him ? 

Paj4, Say, that, if his eye 

Could read this heart, its struggles, its temptations, 
His love itself ,would pardon that desertion ! 
Look on that poor old man, he is my father ; 
He stands upon the verge of an abyss ! 
He calls his child to save him ! Shall I shrink 
From him who gave me birth ? withhold my hand. 
And see a parent perish ? Tell him this. 
And say, that we shall meet again in heaven ! 

MeL Lady — I — I — what is this riddle ? what 
The nature of this sacrifice ? 

Pau. [Pointing to Damas^ Go ask him ! 

Beau. [From the table,] The papers are prepared, we only need 
Your hand and seal. 

MeL Stay lady, one word more. 

Were but your duty with your faith united. 
Would you still share the low-born peasant's lot ? 

Pau. Would I ? Ah, better death with him I love 
Than all the pomp, which is but as the flowers 
That crown the vi£tim ! [Turning away] I am ready. 

[Melnotte rushes to Damas. 

Dam. There, 

This is the schedule, this the total. 

Beau. [To Deschappelles^ showing notes] These 
Are yours the instant she has signed ; you are 
5till the great House of Lyons ! 

[The notary is about to hand the contract to Pauline^ when 
Melnotte seizes and tears it. 

Beau. Are you mad ? 

M, Des. How, sir ! What means this insult ! 



6:2 THE LADY OF LYONS. [act v. 

Mel. Peace, old man ! 

I have a prior claim. Before the face 
Of man and heaven I urge it ; I outbid 
Yon sordid huckster for your priceless jev^el. 

\_Giving a pocket-hook. 
There is the sum twice-told ! Blush not to take it : 
There's not a coin that is not bought and hallov^'d 
In the cause of nations with a soldier's blood ! 

Beau. Torments and death ! 

Pau. That voice ! Thou art — 

Mel. Thy husband ! 

\Paultne rushes into his arins. 

Mel. Look up ! Look up, Pauline ! for I can bear 
Thine eyes ! The stain is blotted from my name. 
I have redeemed mine honour. I can call 
On France to sanction thy divine forgiveness ! 
Oh, joy ! Oh, rapture ! By the midnight watchfires 
Thus have I seen thee ! thus foretold this hour ! 
And 'midst the roar of battle, thus have heard 
The beating of thy heart against my own ! 

Beau. FooPd, duped, and triumph'd over in the hour 
Of mine own viftory ! Curses on ye both ! 
May thorns be planted in the marriage-bed ! 
And love grow sour'd and blacken'd into hate, 
Such as the hate that gnaws me ! 

Dam. Curse away ! 

And let me tell thee, Beauseant, a wise proverb 
The Arabs have : 'Curses are like young chickens, 
\Solemnly\ And still come home to roost !' 

Beau. Their happiness 

Maddens my soul ! I am powerless and revengeless. 

[Ti Madame. 
I wish you joy ! H^, ha ! the gardener's son ! \_Exit. 

Dam. [Ti Glavis~] Your friend intends to hang himself! 
Methinks 



SCENE II.] THE LADY OF LTONS. . 63 

You ought to be his travelling companion ! 

Gla. Sir, you are exceedingly obliging ! \^Exit. 

Pau. Oh ! 

My father, you are saved, and by my husband ! 
Ah ! blessed hour ! 

MeL Yet you weep still, Pauline ! 

Pau, But on thy breast ! these tears are sweet and holy ! 

M. Des» You have won love and honour, nobly, sir ! 
Take her ; be happy both ! 

Mme. D. I'm all astonish'd ! 

Who, then, is Colonel Morier ? 

Dam. • You behold him ! 

MeL Morier no more after this happy day ! 
I would not bear again my father's name 
Till I could deem it spotless ! The hour's come \ 
Heaven smiled on conscience ! As the soldier rose 
From rank to rank, how sacred was the i^nciQ 
That cancell'd crime, and raised him nearer thee ! 

Mme, D, A colonel and a hero ! Well, that's something ! 
He's wond'rously improved ! I wish you joy, sir ! 

Mel, Ah ! the same love that tempts us into sin. 
If it be true love, works out its redemption ; 
And he who seeks repentance for the Past 
Should woo the Angel Virtue in the future ! \_The curtain fails. 



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